White Noise
by rightersblock
Summary: Booth and Brennan work together to solve a case that is stranger than fiction. BB
1. September

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. I know your surprised.

Author's Note: I got the idea for this story while I was working. I have no idea why. Anyway, the plot just kind of came to me, and I wanted to get it out of my head, so I decided that I would change it into a Bones fanfiction so I could get some feedback on it. It's probably going to be another long story, and as you know if you read Body at the Beach, I write longer chapters. Hope that works for everyone. For now it's rated T since I'm not totally sure where it's going yet and I want to be on the safe side. Also, just so you know, Angela and Hodgins are not dating in this fic. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

September arrived in Washington D.C. in precisely the same way that it arrived everywhere else. The lengths of pant legs and sleeves varied inversely with the length of sunlight in the days, and the fiery fingers of August began to loosen their grip, causing the once lush summer foliage to become edged with reds and browns. The scent of the summer months, which was a delicate mixture of grass clippings and heat, was replaced by the distinct, though perhaps imagined, smell of pencil shavings and paste. The colors of the outdoors changed, washing the landscape into a swirling blend that was reminiscent of the crayons in a child's box. During the darkened hours of the night, long forgotten fears began to crop up in people's minds, vague, but insistent. Among these were the fears of missing homework assignments, not being able to find the classroom on the first day, and of taking math tests wearing nothing but underwear. All people, young and old alike, felt the similar anxieties—what if the teacher calls on me and I don't know the answer? Who will I sit with at lunch? What if I trip and fall on my face in front of my entire class? All things were tinged with a feeling of newness, despite the fact that the year was actually three fourths of the way over. The laid back mindset of the hotter months was slowly replaced by the jovial, bustling feeling that comes with colder weather and the anticipation of new beginnings, of school years beginning, of family coming home for the holidays, and of nestling in for the snow and cold that surely lay ahead, however far in the future. Children prepared themselves to become students, teachers wrote new lesson plans and rearranged bulletin boards, and parents mentally readied themselves for hours of soccer practices, parent-teacher meetings, and homework assistance. Everyone felt the shift.

The workers at the Jeffersonian were no exception to this rule. Although it had been years since any of them had been in elementary school, they all felt the familiar mental tug that came with the dawning of September. It seemed that no one was immune to the pull of this month; the early years of life had been too influential, too important to be forgotten or ignored. Resistance was futile. However, for the workers in the Jeffersonian, September was more than just a reminder of long past school days. September was the marker of the beginning of fall, the season which is often used as an archetype for death. And it was death, not schoolhouse memories, which tended to stand at the forefront of Jeffersonian employee's minds as they drove to work on cool September mornings.

Temperance Brennan's mind, however, was not on death as she drove to the Jeffersonian on one particularly and unusually cold Monday morning in September. Although she knew what was waiting for her when she got to work—the remains of a long dead body that had been found by a backhoe that was digging in an effort to prepare a piece of ground for the laying of a foundation—she allowed her thoughts to stray to other things, happier things. She had woken up in a good mood that morning roughly two minutes before the alarm sharply sounded. She had smiled through a breakfast of coffee and toast, in spite of the terrible news of death and destruction from around the world that had been plastered on the front of the newspaper which she had been reading. She felt relaxed as she drove, ignoring the fact that two drivers had cut her off and one had given her the finger as she made her way to work. Nothing could touch her mood today.

The reason for this, though she would never admit it out loud, was because she knew that Booth would be coming by her office at some point that day. He would come for an update on the body, which had been found late the night before. She smiled as she recalled his voice when he had called her. He had told her about the remains, informed her that they were being sent to the Jeffersonian, and then asked her if she would mind taking a look at them on Monday. She smiled at the idea. He had _asked_ her to look at the remains. He hadn't demanded or insisted. He had asked. She smiled again as she recalled the rest of the conversation. It had almost seemed as though Booth didn't want to get off the phone. He had made an attempt at small talk, which Temperance had tried to return. In the end, they had spent a half hour on the phone, talking about nothing in particular. Booth had finally ended the conversation, leaving Temperance with the smile that remained on her face even into this morning.

Since becoming the FBI link to the Jeffersonian, Booth had been a constant presence in Temperance's life. At first she had been annoyed by him, always feeling as though he were looking down on her, or disrespecting her. After some time together she had come to understand his manner, and this had lead to her respect for him. He was a good person who was honestly seeking justice and truth. Temperance had to admit that this was admirable. And then, as more time passed, Temperance realized that she and Booth had drifted into a friendship. They cared about each other. She knew he would be there if she needed him, just as she would be there for him if the situation was reversed. They were coming to understand one another, learning how to communicate, and slowly their relationship was growing. Angela was always quick to point out that she thought their relationship would become, and should become, one of romantic involvement. These were thoughts that Temperance always quickly scoffed at and pushed away. "We're just friends!" she would insist, or "we just work together!" However, though she denied it outwardly, Temperance knew on the inside that her relationship with Booth was changing. It was growing into something more than just mutual respect and friendship. She sensed that Booth felt it, too, though the two never discussed it. The idea was both exciting and frightening to Temperance at the same time. So much could go wrong, in so many ways they would clash with one another, they were both so stubborn…and yet, in the face of her resistance and denials, she realized that it only took one look from Booth and one utterance of "Bones" to make her ignore these claims. She was attracted to Seeley Booth. She respected Seeley Booth. She was friends with Seeley Booth. How wrong could it be?

Temperance dropped her bag in her office, looked through a few stray papers, exchanged morning pleasantries and small talk with her co-workers, and eventually pulled on her lab coat and began her work on the remains. Zach mimicked her actions with his own lab coat, surveying the remains silently with her, as Hodgins and Angela stood by, looking, and waiting to see what they could do with the new find.

"Victims appears to be male, Caucasian," Zach stated as his eyes scanned the remains. He sniffled slightly.

"Broken collarbone, restructuring suggests five to seven years before death," Temperance added, staring closely at one of the bones.

Zach coughed lightly. Temperance's eyes flicked to him briefly. "Take some measurements to determine height. I'll start determining age."

Zach nodded, sniffling again as he did so. This drew a quizzical look from Angela. "Are you sick, Zach?" She asked as she glanced up from the sketch pad on which she had been jotting notes about the bones.

Zach shook his head. "No, not sick," he said. The dark circles under his eyes and the lethargic manner with which he moved betrayed his words. Angela gave him a look that reflected this, and he shrugged slightly. "I might have a cold."

"Great, you have a cold. With any luck we'll all be infected by lunch," Hodgins said, his tone gruff.

Angela looked at him and rolled her eyes. "That was Mr. Optimism with the Big Picture." She turned her attention back to the young lab assistant. "If you're sick, you should go home and get some rest."

Zach shook his head. "I'm fine."

Temperance looked up at him. "Go home if you're sick, Zach. We're not that busy today. You don't necessarily have to be here."

Zach shook his head again. "I'm fine," he repeated.

Angela sighed. "Men," she mumbled. Zach gave her a quizzical look before shrugging and gathering the necessary bones to accomplish his task. Temperance moved to do the same thing, and with that the four slip up to work on their various parts of the project.

* * *

Booth parked his SUV in the parking lot of the Jeffersonian at two o'clock that afternoon. He climbed out, locking the doors behind him as he flipped his keys between his fingers and tucked a manila file under his arm. He found Temperance in her office a short time later, her attention focused on her computer screen. She didn't even look up when he appeared in her doorway. 

Booth moved to give the door a gentle knock so he wouldn't startle her, but before his fingers could connect with the surface, Temperance spoke. "Come on in, Booth, I'm almost done."

He smiled slightly her perception of him and moved into the office. She hit a few more keys, and a moment later he heard the sound of her printer producing a typed sheet. She glanced at it briefly, and then handed it to him. "The body was a male, Caucasian, 50 to 57 years of age, between 5'11" and 6'1". Cause of death unknown, but he'd been buried in that spot for a minimum of 10 to 15 years."

Booth accepted the paper, his eyes scanning over it as Temperance spoke. "Great. Thanks," he said. "I didn't think you would get to it so fast."

"Anything to help the FBI," Temperance said, her voice showing that she was being somewhat sarcastic.

Booth smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way, because I have something for you." He dropped the file onto her desk. She opened it and began to read the contents as Booth spoke. "Harold Gibson and Richard Hyde both died on the same day almost one year ago. Both were buried, but in different graveyards. A few days ago the Gibson family began claiming that the person buried in Harold Gibson's grave was not Harold Gibson. Since the same funeral home was in charge of both burials, Richard Hyde became the most reasonable option for a mix-up; they had similar builds, similar features, it wouldn't have been a hard mistake to make. Both had closed-casket services. Then the Gibson family starts claiming that they heard a worker at the funeral home talking about how they had buried Harold Gibson in the wrong place. They claim that they heard this statement during Harold Gibson's funeral. Why they waited almost a year to tell anyone is beyond me."

Temperance glanced up. "Why is this an FBI case?"

"It wasn't," Booth answered. "But when they dug up what should have been the body of Harold Gibson, they found something else. Someone was buried in Harold Gibson's grave—on top of the coffin."

Temperance, who had gone back to looking at the file, glanced up again. "There were two bodies in Harold Gibson's grave?"

"That's right. And that's where we come in. We need to know who the second person is, and we need to know why they were doing buried on top of someone else in a graveyard. There was no record of the second body being there, and no reason for it to be there."

"Well, there could be one reason…" Temperance replied.

"Yeah. In fact, there could _only_ be one reason. And that's why it's an FBI case."

* * *

Feel free to hit the review button now, and feel free to tell me if you hate it so far. Seriously. If you think it sucks, I want to know :-) 


	2. Blissfully Pointless

Disclaimer: Don't own it

Author's Note: Thanks for all your reviews! I was so psyched that so many of you read the first chapter. I hope that you all like this one, sorry if there are any typos in it. Hope you enjoy it!

**

* * *

**Booth left the Jeffersonian around 3:45 that afternoon. Although he and Temperance had been done talking about the case around 2:45 or 3:00, the truth was he hadn't wanted to leave. When the time finally had come for him to go, he did so with great reluctance. The simple fact of the matter was that he liked spending time with Temperance. She was his friend, someone who he simply enjoyed talking to. He had noticed that she was dragging her feet in the conversation as well, doing her best to prolong his stay. He smiled slightly. It was strange to think of how far they had come; they had gone from hardly wanting to work together to doing their best to extend their time in one another's company.

The chilled air struck Booth's cheeks as he stepped outside. In truth, he had known why both he and Temperance had been unwilling to part company and dive headlong into the case. It was the same reason they both felt a slight hesitation at the beginning of every case, though they never spoke of it out loud. Cases were draining, both physically and emotionally. No matter how good a person's shields were, the reality of death always crept through, rushing through the brain like water rushing through a crack in a glass. There was something to be said for the simplicity that came with just _talking_—spending time in meaningless conversation that was not tinged with murderers and victims. There was peace in small talk, relaxation. Booth and Temperance both understood that each time a new case started the simplicity was lost, at least for a while.

Booth smiled again. The short times that came between the realization of a new case and the actual working on it were something that had developed into a kind of ritual between Booth and Temperance, an unspoken tradition. The new case would come to their attention, and then they would both just talk—sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for an hour—each pretending that, even if just for a short while, the world was simple. They both knew that they were grasping, that in the end they had to face the death in order to find justice, but that didn't stop them from relishing those short minutes of innocence, the sort of faux virginity that they experienced in those times of avoidance.

Booth swung his SUV onto the main road and glanced in his rearview mirror. Hodgins was following him to the site so that he could gather samples to start analyzing for the new body. Booth absentmindedly cracked his knuckles. The innocence was over. The case had begun. He reached over, increasing the volume on the radio. Through the speakers he heard a man's voice singing that he was in over his head. Booth shook his head, his thoughts drifting to the new case, and then muttered under his breath, "you and me both, man."

The song was catchy, and before long Booth was drumming his thumb on the steering wheel in time with the beat. But then, just as Booth was contemplating doing a little air guitar, the radio became filled with static. Booth groaned a little, pushing the tune buttons, hoping to clear the noise, but was no use. The station wouldn't come through clearly, and although Booth occasionally caught a lyric or two from the song, the majority of the sounds coming from the radio were simply—what had they been called in college?—white noise.

Eventually, when the site was only a few minutes away, Booth gave up the radio and pushed a CD into the player. He glanced behind him again and nearly laughed when he saw Hodgins singing along to whatever he was listening to in his car, though he was trying to hide the fact that he was doing so. Booth shook his head. "Squints," he mumbled to himself. "Gotta love em'."

* * *

Back at the Jeffersonian, Temperance was sitting at her desk, staring at the computer screen, which was half filled with words. As her eyes scanned over them, rereading what as typed, she mentally edited in her head, and a few minutes later she highlighted the entire text and hit 'backspace' on the keyboard. She sighed heavily. There were things she could be doing right now—working with remains from limbo, organizing files, making phone calls—but she knew that it wasn't wise to start any of these tasks. The body from Booth's new case would be arriving shortly, and she needed to make progress on her book. Her editor was already breathing down her neck over it.

Temperance groaned. Ordinarily, writing came easily to her. It was so much simpler to deal with the lives of imagined people. It was easier to understand to the rational of people if you had created their back story. Normally, writing was even a release for her; she enjoyed expressing herself on paper, she liked the feeling of her tension melting away with the stroke of each key. But, with a sigh, she realized that lately this had not been the case. She was suffering from writer's block, and it was driving her crazy. And now, whenever she thought about the prospect of working on her new book, instead of feeling excitement, she only felt dread. The book wasn't working. It wouldn't be good. With another groan, she pushed up for her chair, resolving that she would find something to do before the new body arrived—something that didn't involve her book.

* * *

The new remains arrived at the Jeffersonian later that day, and Temperance, who had been quite successful in avoiding her book, began working on them immediately. Hodgins began work quickly as well, sifting through the find pieces of dirt and staring at them under the microscope mutely, his silence only broken when he occasionally mumbled something to himself.

Zach stood beside Temperance, looking over the remains. Unlike Temperance, however, Zach's brain was not registering anything his eyes took in. A short while later Angela walked in the room.

"Victim was female," Temperance said as she rounded the table. She moved a bone so that she could study it under a microscope. "Not sure about age yet."

"Caucasian descent?" Zach mumbled, his comment coming out as a question.

Angela cut in then. "You look awful, Zach." Leave it to Angela to be blunt.

Zach regarded her with tired eyes. "I think I might be getting sick," he answered weakly.

Angela rolled her eyes. "Well gee, if only someone could have told you that this morning, you might have been able to go home for some rest."

Zach nodded, agreeing for a moment before he realized what Angela had said. When her words sunk in, it seemed that he was confused. "Huh?" he said, blankly.

"Victim appears to have been an average size. No obvious skeletal deformities," Temperance said, seemingly oblivious to Angela and Zach's conversation.

"Just go home! You're sick, you should be asleep!" Angela insisted.

Zach shook his head, his strength seeming to return slightly after he did so. "I'm fine. I can stay."

"Scratches on the bone, but it seems that most of them came from being dug up," Temperance said.

"Please, Zach, just go home. Make tea and soup. Get some sleep," Angela pleaded.

Zach sighed, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his tiredness. "Alright." He stripped off his lab coat, gathered his things, and few minutes later, after another brief exchange with Angela he left. Angela turned her attention back to Temperance, who was still engrossed in the remains.

"These bones are adult, fusing suggests 29-35." She glanced up for a moment and looked around. "Where did Zach go?"

* * *

Temperance got home around 10:30 that night. She was tired, but she felt as though she had accomplished something, so she was in a fairly good mood. She hunted through her refrigerator and located some leftovers which she zapped in the microwave and then ate while standing over her sink. Who said the life of a forensic anthropologist wasn't glamorous?

After finishing her dinner, she grabbed the phone and dialed Booth's number.

"Booth," he said when he answered.

"Hey," she answered. "I have the preliminaries on your remains."

"What's it look like?" Booth asked, ignoring the small skip his heart had taken when he heard her voice on the phone.

"Female, 29-35, 5'4"-5'6". Caucasian," Temperance said.

Booth was quiet for a beat. "That doesn't narrow it down much, does it?"

"Cuts out at least half of the population," Temperance pointed out.

Booth smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's true. Thanks, Bones."

Temperance smiled at the sound of her nickname. "Anything for the FBI." They were both quiet for a second, searching for something else to say. "So," Temperance said a few moments later, "do you have Parker this weekend?"

At the thought of his son, it seemed that Booth's voice lifted. It was as though Temperance could see his eyes light up through the phone line. "Yeah, I'm picking him up on Friday and then I have him til' Sunday night," Booth answered.

Temperance began absently cleaning up her kitchen as she talked to Booth, the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder. "What are you guys planning to do?"

"Well, you know Parker," Booth chuckled as he leaned back in the chair he had been sitting in, ignoring the now muted program that flittered and flashed across the screen. "He's just going to want to cruise the bars and pick up women."

Temperance almost laughed. Almost. "So, you're taking him to the zoo then?"

Booth chuckled. "Yeah, probably. I promised him we would play catch, too. He decided a few days ago that he wants to be a baseball player when he grows up."

Temperance smiled at the idea of a miniature version of Booth running the bases of a baseball diamond. "That sounds good, but you might want to have him think up a backup career option of the athlete thing doesn't work out. Maybe you should suggest that he become a rock star."

Booth smiled. Was Temperance Brennan making jokes with him? "That's a good idea, but why stop there? Music and sports are unstable career paths. I think I'll get him in some acting classes, too."

Temperance laughed, shaking her head. She wasn't really sure what was so funny, they weren't really even talking about anything. And yet, at the same time, she realized that that was precisely why she was laughing; because it was blissfully…pointless.

Temperance and Booth chatted for a few more minutes, but when Temperance started yawning, she said her goodnights to Booth and headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed. She was smiling again. She shook her head. As much as she denied it, she liked that Booth had this effect on her.

Outside, she vaguely heard the crickets and bugs warming up for their evening symphony. In a few weeks the cold weather would make this nightly ritual stop, but for now Temperance enjoyed the sound. She nestled in bed and dropped her eyes closed, pretending that death wasn't real. When a siren shrieked in the distance, she sighed. Tomorrow she would work some more on the remains that Booth had given her. And she would do some actual work on her novel. She rolled over. Tomorrow; for now, all she wanted was rest.

Temperance Brennan dropped asleep at the exact same moment that Booth, in his own bed, after his own nightly ritual had ended, began snoring, his dreams tinged with images of Parker playing rock music, the song about being in over his head, in a baseball uniform as he and Temperance danced to the beat.

* * *

Temperance walked into her office at the Jeffersonian at 8:00 the next morning. Hodgins and Angela arrived a few minutes later. Zach called in sick, opting to stay home and sleep.

By 9:30, Hodgins approached Temperance to tell her about his findings.

"The body was buried in that spot for around one year," Hodgins said, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets as he spoke.

Temperance, who was looking over the remains, looked up at him. "You're saying that the body was buried on top of the coffin at the same time that the coffin was put in the ground?"

"No, I'm saying the body had been there for about a year. How or who put it there isn't for me to say."

"You don't have a theory?" Temperance asked, arching an eyebrow as she did so.

"Of course I do. I think that this body is someone the government offed and was trying to hide."

"It's probably best if you don't speculate," Temperance said, her head dropping again to look at the bones.

Hodgins nodded. "You'll be sorry when I'm right. Do we know the cause of death?"

Temperance picked up a bone and began to study it. "Markings on the bone indicate that she was stabbed, but the markings have different features. Either the weapon was being broken as she was being stabbed, or there were multiple weapons."

"Any theories?" Hodgins asked, rocking back on his heels.

Temperance smiled at him. "It's not my place to speculate."

Hodgins chuckled slightly, and then began to cough. He sniffled slightly when he stopped, and then froze. He looked at Temperance and then mumbled, "I'm going to kill Zach," as he turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

You can review if you want


	3. Ophelia

Disclaimer: Don't own it yet, but I'll keep you posted

Author's Note: Thanks for all the great reviews! I really appreciate them all. I hope you like this chapter, I tried to proofread better this time, but I'm sure I made some typos, so sorry for that. Hope you enjoy this one! Go ahead and read now :-)

* * *

While Temperance and Hodgins were in the lab working with the remains, Booth was in his own office, sifting through a stack of phone messages that had seemed to accumulate overnight. And, in fact, they _had_ accumulated over the night. Most of them were from the press, asking him for details, wanting to set up short interviews, wanting to gain access to the site for photographs. Booth sighed. He hated the publicity that came along with murders. It seemed obscene. He picked through a few of the messages, calling people back to inform them that he would not be giving interviews, and, no, they could not rifle through his crime scene with their cameras. After the fourth call, Booth simply pushed the messages into the trash. He had called enough people now; the rest would get the message.

Booth ran a weary hand over his face. It was only 8:30 in the morning, and already he was tired. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from his chair and retreated from the confines of his office. _'Coffee,'_ he thought. _'I'll get a cup of coffee, and then I'll get to work on this case.'_

He shuffled through the hallway, glancing about at his coworkers as he did so. Although some seemed to be truly engrossed in their work, he noticed that a few moved like him, in a lethargic stupor, obviously wishing that they could be fishing, or golfing, or doing anything that wasn't work. For some inexplicable reason, the fact that his colleagues were also having a hard time starting that morning lent him some comfort.

After pouring his coffee, Booth lingered for a moment in the hallway. He made small talk with a few of the people around him, but for the most part they all just stood quietly, as if they were afraid of getting caught for being away from their desks. Booth sighed. He had work to do, and he knew it, but he also knew that as soon as he sat down to actually start working, his phone would start ringing off the hook with reporters and journalists and God knows who else, asking him questions and just generally interrupting his day. He sighed again. _'Oh well,'_ he thought. _'There's no getting around it. Might as well just go back and face it.'_ And with that thought, he turned on his heel and began heading back down the hallway.

Before he had even made it halfway back to his office, he heard a voice behind him, calling his name.

"Agent Booth!"

Booth paused and turned to look for the owner of the voice. Cullen came into focus a moment later, striding towards him. Booth gave the other man a polite nod. "Yes, sir?"

"We need to talk, Booth. In my office," Cullen said sharply. Confused, Booth followed.

They entered Cullen's office a few moments later. Booth stood in front of the desk as Cullen settled into his chair, but when Cullen waved his hand towards the chairs in front of the desk, Booth sat as well.

"We received information on another body this morning," Cullen said, his eyes locking with Booth's. "We're going to need Dr. Brennan to help us ID it."

Booth was momentarily taken aback. "We already have her working on a case, sir."

"We have reason to believe that the body she is already working on is linked to the one we found out about this morning," Cullen answered.

Booth paused. "What basis do we have for assuming that? We don't know the cause of death or ID for the first body."

Cullen lifted a piece of paper off his desk and handed it to Booth. The paper was safely locked in a plastic bag. Booth's eyes briefly scanned the paper. It read: "how dArk tHE graVeyard grows. benEath the surface, because of The Stone, dEad she Lies. **M**igHty OPhelia, the river washed ovEr, Stealing her away."

Booth glanced up at Cullen who, seeing that Booth was done reading, spoke. "That arrived this morning. It's been checked for prints, but we didn't get anything, at least not yet. The bag is a precaution, but we doubt we'll find anything. Along with it, we got this." Cullen handed Booth another plastic bag with a photograph in it. The picture was of a river. Cullen continued, "when we got this, we sent people immediately to the river to see what was there. That's where we found the second body."

Booth nodded, staring at the letter and picture in his hands. Cullen sat quietly for a minute, but before long he spoke again. "The letter and picture came together in an envelope," he said. "There was no address and no stamp, so it was hand delivered here. And it was addressed to you."

Booth's head snapped up. "Addressed to me?" he asked in surprise. "This case is barely public. No one would know that I'm working on it."

Cullen shrugged. "It wouldn't be that hard to guess. You work with Dr. Brennan, and a case involving a decayed corpse would certainly require her input."

Booth nodded numbly, looking back at the contents of the envelope. "Can I have…" Before he could finish his sentence, Cullen pulled the copies from his desk.

"I've got copies for our people here, of course," Cullen said. "We'll be working on deciphering the message if we can as well, but due to a backup of work, I'm afraid this one is more or less up to you and the good Doctor."

* * *

At one o'clock that afternoon, Booth, who had been staring at the letter for the better part of his day, decided to go check on his squints. He pulled his SUV into the Jeffersonian lot just after 1:30 and quickly jogged up to Temperance's office.

She was at her desk when he walked in, her forehead knitted in concentration. He saw her blow out a frustrated sigh and angrily hit the backspace key as he approached the opened door.

"Hey, Bones, did I come at a bad time?" he asked, sticking his head in the doorway.

Temperance looked up from her computer screen quickly, the anger in her eyes rapidly dissipating. "Oh, hey, Booth. No, I was just…typing."

Booth walked fully into her office. "You mean writing?"

"No, 'writing' implies that I was accomplishing something. What I was doing was 'typing', meaninglessly arranging words so that they formed sentences but had no real meaning."

Booth smiled slightly. "If you let me read it, I might be able to help you improve it."

"To late, it's been deleted," she answered.

Booth sighed. "If you don't have confidence in your work, you're never going to get anything done."

Temperance began to look more than a little annoyed at this statement. "Is there a reason you came by, Booth?" she asked, her voice a bit sharper than she intended it to be.

Booth gave her a half smile and dropped the copy of the letter onto her desk. "Yeah, actually there is. This was delivered to my office today, I was wondering if you could help me think of some ideas on what it means."

Temperance, her irritation forgotten, lifted the letter and began to study it. Booth pushed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he waited for her to finish reading.

When her eyes lifted back up, the blue irises were filled with concern. "When you said this was delivered to your office…"

Booth tried his best to look reassuring. "It's not a big deal. But the letter did lead us to another body, which it would be great if you could look at, by the way."

She nodded absently. "Where was the body found?"

"In the river."

"Huh," Temperance said, looking back at the letter. "Interesting."

"Interesting?"

Temperance glanced back up at him. "The Hamlet reference. 'Mighty Ophelia, the river washed over, stealing her away.' Ophelia committed suicide in the play by drowning herself."

Booth paused for a beat, suddenly wishing he had paid more attention in English class. "Does that help us at all?"

Temperance shrugged. "I'm not the cop. I don't see how it would, though. You already have the body." Booth nodded, and Temperance continued. "The capitalization seems strange. And why the one bolded letter?"

"I was wondering about that, too," Booth said. "But I'm not coming up with many theories. Well, not many probable theories, anyway. I ran the name 'Ophelia' through a missing person's search, and came up with a few hits. Maybe one of them is our victim."

"Any way of tracking down the author through the typing?"

Booth shook his head. "Not that I can think of. It's in a basic font, available on any computer with even a basic word processing system. Paper is standard, nothing much to go on for a trace."

Temperance nodded, still looking at the letter. A moment later she said, "I don't like this."

Booth gave her a soft smile. "It's nothing to worry about," he said, his voice low and smooth. Temperance knew he was trying to ease her mind, but somehow the sweet sound of his voice didn't make her anxiety go away. Preferring not to dwell, she switched topics.

"When will the body be delivered?"

"Should be getting here soon," Booth said. Almost before the words were out of his mouth, a stuffed up Hodgins appeared in the doorway.

"Dr. Brennan," sniff, "a body just got here."

Temperance immediately pulled on her lab coat and headed out to start going over the remains. Booth followed her, out of her office, and then said his goodbyes as he headed back to his own office. Temperance began organizing the few stray bones into anatomical order on the table, and when she had completed this process, she stepped back to survey the entire set of remains.

The first thing that Temperance noted was that the remains were male. Clearly, whoever this was, it wasn't Ophelia.

* * *

Temperance worked with the remains for hours. At 6:30, a very tired Hodgins had announced that he was calling it a night. His skin looked clammy, his cheeks were flushed, and he just generally looked as though he wanted to curl up in a ball and never wake up again. Angela had left a short time later as well, leaving Temperance alone to work in the lab.

At 9:30, Temperance was the only one left working. She studied the remains, soaking in any and all minute details, searching for anything that could appear to be a linking factor. Something about the case was bothering her, something didn't feel right. In some strange way the case felt…_familiar._

When Temperance heard the sound of footsteps approaching, she momentarily froze. However, a moment later when Booth came into focus, she relaxed. His tie hung loosely around his neck and the top button of his shirt was undone. Generally, he looked weary.

"Hey, Bones," he said, his voice heavy and cracked with tiredness. "Got anything for me?"

Temperance gave him a small smile. He looked good when he was slightly disheveled, she decided. She felt the sudden urge to smooth is hair and fix his tie. When the realization of the implications of this urge hit her, she quickly averted her eyes back to the bones and began speaking.

"Victim was male, Caucasian, age 37-41. Around 5'9" and 5'11"."

Booth sighed. "Not Ophelia, then?"

Temperance smiled. "Not unless she had a BIG secret."

Booth gave her an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Bones. Really, I appreciate all of this," he waved his hand, gesturing at the table by way of explanation.

"Hey, what are friends for, right?" she said, stripping the gloves off her hands and tossing them into the bio-waste bin that sat nearby.

Booth's heart felt warm in his chest. _Friends_. Though they never seemed to talk about it out loud, he liked the way that sounded. "Hey, have you had dinner yet?" he asked, his mouth jumping ahead of his brain."

She glanced over her shoulder at him as she pulled off her lab coat. "What did you have in mind?"

"The usual?"

Temperance smiled. "Sure," she answered. "Just give me a few minutes to get my stuff."

* * *

And so, Temperance and Booth had a relaxing dinner where they discussed the case and talked over some thoughts on what they should do next. Although they sat opposite one another at a booth, and although there was no move to touch or to make this into anything romantic, both of them felt that something was different tonight. They weren't there as colleagues. They were there as friends.

Before the bill arrived, they had lapsed into conversations about Temperance's writer's block and the rampant cold that was being passed between the squints. When the meal was over, Temperance snagged the bill and paid it, despite Booth's protesting. They headed to the parking lot, where they exchanged a friendly goodnight and climbed into their cars. Both were tired, and although they had enjoyed their time together, both were happy for the silence that came with being alone.

Although Booth ended up turning on the radio when he was halfway home, Temperance made her entire journey in silence. The letter was weighing heavily on her mind. Who had sent it? The logical choice was that it was a message from the killer, but why? And how had whoever sent it known to send it to Booth? Temperance shook her head. It wasn't so strange that the letter had come to Booth; he had solved some big cases, people knew his name, he had been on the news, and it was widely known that he often was involved in cases that would require her expertise. More than likely, whoever had sent the letter had picked his name and gotten lucky. Still, the letter made Temperance feel unsettled. She thought about it the whole way home and through her nightly routine of getting ready for bed.

'_Ophelia,'_ she thought, as she lay in the dark. _'Why Ophelia?'_ And with this thought, she drifted to sleep.

* * *

Reviews are encouraged at this point


	4. The Darkness Beneath

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! I hope you guys like this one as well. Sorry it took so long to update, I've been insanely busy for the past few days, but I'm going to try to post faster from now on. Anyway, here's chapter four for you guys, sorry for any and all typos...

* * *

Temperance leaned over the lit examination table as she studied the remains of the young woman who had been found in Harold Gibson's grave, searching for a cause of death. Her attention was primarily focused on the bones of neck, near the base of the skull, where there were a large number of nicks and markings. Though they varied in size, shape, and depth, Temperance was certain that whatever had caused them had also killed the young girl.

Temperance blew out a short sigh. Although she had been studying the bones for over three hours, she was no closer to finding a cause of death than she was when she had first started that morning. She gave her head a small shake, trying to clear her mind. Mentally whining over her failure would not make the answers come any faster, she told herself, and with a quick nod of affirmation to her own reasoning, she returned her eyes to the young victim.

She found her attention drifting to one groove in particular, just left of the middle of the skull and down about an inch. The canal that had been carved in the bone was stained a faint red brown, causing Temperance to believe that the blow that had caused this wound had been delivered when the girl was still alive. She lifted the bone and placed it under a microscope, adjusting the magnification to give herself the best view possible. The groove was deeper than many of the others, more well defined. Temperance upped the magnification, her gaze focused on the edges of the groove. The edges were steep; however they were also spaced widely, to wide to have been caused by an ordinary blade. She studied the bottom of the canal. The familiar etching that came with knives was not present. What was left in its stead was an uneven pattern of hills and valleys. The marking was somewhat circular in shape as well, a fact that troubled Temperance slightly. What would leave this kind of marking?

Just as Temperance was about to lift another bone to study, Angela strolled into the room. She held a computer printout in her right hand, which she lifted as she spoke. "I've got your face!"

"Great," Temperance said, her eyes still focused on the bones. "Just drop it anywhere."

Angela gave a slight nod and dropped the paper onto a nearby table. "Any progress?"

Temperance sighed again, looking up. "None." She pulled off her gloves and tossed them in the bio-waste bin before resting a hand on her hip. She chewed on her lower lip for a minute before speaking. "Could you do a 3-D reconstruction of the skull? Maybe if we can determine an angle we can figure out some of the patterns."

"Sure," Angela answered, walking the last few steps to stand beside Temperance, looking down at the bones. She shook her head sadly. "How old did you say she was?"

"Between 29 and 35."

Angela dropped her hands into her pockets, her eyes never leaving the macabre display on the table. "How could someone do something like this?"

Temperance shook her head. "Anyone could do this. That's why it happens so much; because we're all capable of it." Temperance turned and headed back to her office, pulling off her lab coat as Angela fell into step behind her. "We just don't want to acknowledge that about ourselves."

* * *

Angela had the image ready a short while later, and after Temperance had finished faxing the computer printout of the face that Angela had found to Booth's office and giving him a quick call, she walked to Angela's office to study the reconstructed picture. At Temperance's prompting, Angela adjusted the image to show different angles.

"Turn it so we are looking at her neck, left of the center of the skull."

Angela did so with a few quick clicks.

"Can you zoom in now?"

A series of taps from Angela's keypad made this happen as well.

"Whatever she was stabbed with would have had to be fairly long, or else the ridge in the bone would not have been that deep."

"How long?" Angela asked.

Temperance shrugged. "Five inches, at least. Probably more."

Angela just nodded in response.

"There are no indications that the wound was caused by a metal blade," Temperance said, more for her own benefit than for Angela's.

"But what else would be used to stab someone?"

Temperance bit her lower lip again, thinking. "I'm not sure, but unless the killer used multiple knives, this girl wasn't stabbed to death in a conventional way. And I have a hard time believing a killer came to a crime scene with a large knife kit."

"How do you know that multiple objects were used?"

"I don't. But if only one object was used, it was being broken as the girl was being killed. That's the only other explanation for the variations in pattern. The only problem is, if the knife was being broken as the girl was dying, there would be pieces of it left behind. No killer would be so thorough as to get rid of all of them. And we didn't find any stray pieces of metal."

* * *

After Temperance was done looking at the 3-D image with Angela, she retreated to her office to do some work on her book. Six hours working on one aspect on one set of remains was enough for one day, she decided. Maybe her intense focus on the bones of the young girl would lead to a new rush of inspiration for her writing.

It didn't. After staring at the blinking cursor on the computer screen for 37 minutes, Temperance had written exactly seven words, all of which had been deleted.

Temperance groaned slightly. This was ridiculous. She _never_ had problems writing. Never. Even if what she wrote was complete crap, she was always able to write _something_. Why had it become such a problem lately? She sighed heavily. '_Just put something down,'_ she told herself. _'Just write something. Anything. Don't even worry if it isn't related to the plot. Just do something. Type.'_ She glanced down at her fingers, willing them to move. When she glanced back up at the screen, she noticed that the white screen had now been replaced with the screen saver that came on after the computer had been inactive for fifteen minutes.

With another frustrated sigh, Temperance glanced over at the clock that hung on her wall. It was 5:30. _'Okay,'_ she told herself. _'Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to surf the internet until 6 o'clock, get my head clear, and then I am going to write. And I'm not leaving until I have at least three or more pages written.'_ With a quick nod to her own thinking, she clicked to sign onto the internet.

She began absentmindedly searching almost immediately. Before long she found herself at a website that featured stories by amateur writers. The stories were based on television shows, movies, books, and other forms of popular entertainment. She glanced at the web address, _'Interesting,'_ she thought. She clicked around for a few minutes and soon found a story on her screen. She began to read. The story was well written and enjoyable, so much so that Temperance almost forgot that she had no idea who the characters were. She glanced at the category she was in. "Bones." She would have to try to catch the show sometime.

After clicking out of the fiction site, Temperance went to She looked up books that she had heard about from friends, books that she had already read, and books that she had seen on the shelves in stores. She even looked up the last book she had published, reading over the reviews that people had written for it.

Temperance glanced at the clock in the bottom right hand corner of her computer screen. It read 6:45 PM. _'Well,'_ Temperance thought, _'so much for only surfing the internet for a half hour.'_ She sighed. She knew she was supposed to get back to working on her book, but she still didn't feel inspired.

She sat, blankly staring at the screen for a few more moments. Slowly, she felt her mind being drawn back to the note Booth had received the day before. Since she was still on she quickly typed "Hamlet" into the search bar. The screen was soon filled with editions of the great work. She randomly clicked on one and watched as the brightly colored cover filled the screen.

She gazed at the picture before her for a few minutes before deleting "Hamlet' from the search bar and typing "Ophelia" in instead. She wasn't sure what she was planning to accomplish, but somehow the thought that she was doing something made her feel like her wasting of time was productive. She hit "enter", and a few moments later a list of books appeared on the screen. She began to scroll through them, only half paying attention to their titles. She was about to click to go to the next page when something caught her attention.

On the glowing screen, Temperance read the words "_The Darkness Beneath_, by Ophelia Stone."

Temperance sat for a moment, dumbfounded. Then, as if suddenly waking from a trance, Temperance clicked to view the item. _'It's a coincidence,'_ she told herself, but somehow she knew this wasn't true. Her mind returned to the note; _because of The Stone_…could it be?

The information on the book loaded onto the screen a few moments later. Temperance quickly scrolled down to read the book summary: _"When the body of Lyle Johnson is exhumed, a startling discovery is made—he is not alone. With him in his final resting place is the body of a young girl. But how did she die? And how did she end up in someone else's grave? These are the questions that Paul Johnson, Lyle's only son, seeks to answer. When the girl is identified, Paul begins his search for answers, only to find that he is losing himself along the way as he is dragged to the darkness that lies within the human heart."_ After this summary there were some reviews of the book, all claiming that it was a taut thriller, excellently written, and an instant classic. The customer reviews were somewhat less upbeat; most claimed that the book was average, or slightly below average, having some problems along the way. While there were a handful of reviewers who raved over the book's brilliance, it seemed that the work had been generally forgotten, lost in the stacks.

Temperance stared at the words in disbelief. Was this possible? Was this book somehow linked at the murder she was currently working on? She quickly jotted down the name of the book and logged off, shoving the scrawled note into her pocket as she did so. She had to get the bookstore to find a copy of the work. As she rushed out the door, she practically ran over Booth, who was just about to walk in.

"Whoa, Bones, where's the fire?" he asked.

"C'mon, we're going to the bookstore," she said, pushing past him.

Confused, Booth stood still for a moment before following after her. "Uh…okay?"

* * *

Temperance explained what she had found to Booth in the car as they drove to the nearest bookstore. By the time they arrived, both were eager to find a copy of the long forgotten work that could perhaps serve as a vital clue in their investigation. After nearly assaulting the man at the register with their enthusiasm, they were directed to a small mystery section in the rear of the building. They hurried to find the shelf and soon found that Ophelia Stone had written more than one book. To be precise, there were four books on the shelf bearing the author's name "Ophelia Stone", and a quick glance inside the front cover of one of the books showed that she had published at least five more.

Temperance grabbed "The Darkness Beneath" off the shelf and hurried at the register as she talked to Booth.

"Do you think this could actually be connected?"

Booth shrugged. "Let's get out hopes up. It's the only real lead we've got."

And so, they paid for the book and headed across the street to a small coffeehouse, where they ordered drinks and sandwiches before diving into the book. The flipped through the pages, pausing now and then to read a passage or two before moving on, until their food arrived.

After the food came to their table, they set the book aside and ate in silence for a few minutes, both thinking. A short time later, Booth spoke.

"I think we have an ID on the girl from the face you sent me," he said, reaching for the file that he had been carrying with him since they had rushed out of Temperance's office. Temperance set her coffee down and reached for it, flipping it open and scanning its contents as Booth continued to speak. "Debra Grey. Went missing in July of last year. She was 32 years old." Booth took a sip of his coffee as Temperance continued to scan the file. "Height fits the range you gave me, and face was almost a perfect match."

Temperance nodded as she looked at the photo of the woman attached to the file. The image showed Donna Grey smiling, displaying two perfectly straight rows of white teeth. She had short blond hair, brown eyes, and a slight dimple on her right cheek. Temperance felt her heart sink slightly. She looked so happy in the picture, so carefree, so…_alive._ Temperance's thoughts drifted to the bones she had been studying that morning. She didn't look so vibrant anymore.

A few minutes later, Temperance closed the folder and pushed it aside. After a quick sip of coffee, she spoke. "So, what do you think we should do next?"

"Next, we find out if the book matches the crime we so far. If it doesn't, we forget about it for now and move on. If it does, I think we should pay a visit to Ms. Stone to find out what inspires her to write her books."

* * *

Reviews make me happy


	5. Domesticity

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter! I always enjoy getting them. I went back and read over the last chapter only to find that for some reason my computer decided to delete the names of the websites that Temperance was on. Just so you know, when she found the book, she was on amazon. Anyway, I also noticed a typo about the girl's name (the girl they ID) I called her Debra Grey and then I called her Donna...just so you know, her name is Debra. :-) Sorry about that! I'll try to do better. This chapter doesn't have much case stuff in it. It was going to, but I was having to much fun when I wrote it. :-) Anyway, hope you like it, go ahead and read.

* * *

Booth paid for dinner, despite Temperance's protests, and after finishing the two climbed back into the SUV and headed home. The adrenaline flowing between the pair was palpable. Since Booth was driving, Temperance quickly flipped on the interior light in the car and turned the cover of the paperback so that she was looking at the first page. Without any discussion, Booth turned the radio off and sat in silence, waiting for Temperance to begin. She did so a few moments later, reading aloud as they rolled down the highway.

Temperance and Booth rode until they reached Temperance's apartment, both engrossed in the story, both quick to point out any small detail that might link the book with their case. There were large sections of exposition that they merely skipped over. If they needed to, they could come back to these later. For now, they just wanted to know if they had a legitimate lead in their case.

Booth killed the engine when he arrived at Temperance's, and the two entered the building. Temperance's eyes remained focused on the book through almost the entire walk, glancing up only briefly to unlock the door to let them into the apartment. After they were inside, Temperance pulled her keys from the lock and closed the door behind them. Then she paused, glancing down at the ridged pieces of metal in her hand.

"We left my car at the Jeffersonian," she stated, somehow only now realizing that they had left from her office together.

Booth paused for a beat. Obviously he had forgotten as well. "Oh, yeah." He was quiet for another beat and then gave a slight shrug. "Oh, well. I can give you a ride to work tomorrow." And with that he tossed his keys on her kitchen counter.

Temperance gave him an odd look. "You're planning on staying here tonight?"

Booth turned quickly. "No. I just meant…you know…I can pick you up in the morning. After I leave my house. Where I will be going when I leave here. Tonight."

Temperance had to smile slightly. He sounded flustered, although it was obvious he was trying to hide it. For a second, Temperance wondered why he suddenly was acting so nervous, but pushed the thought away when he gave her one of his classic smiles. The nerves had dissipated. Temperance gave him a small smile in return. "Then we should probably try to get there early in the morning. If Angela sees you dropping me off, we'll never hear the end of it."

Booth gave Temperance a mischievous smile, as if they were sharing a private joke. "Yeah," he agreed.

Temperance stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Want anything to drink?" she asked.

Booth pushed his hands into his pockets. "Water would be great if you have it."

Temperance grabbed another bottle and closed the fridge door, giving him another look and the slightest hint of a smile. "If I have it? I might not be domestic, but I _do_ keep water in the house."

Booth smiled slightly again, rocking back on his heels. _'Real smooth, man,'_ he berated himself. "No, you know, I mean, I don't want to put you to any trouble or anything."

Temperance shook her head, handing him the bottle. "It's water, Booth, not a kidney."

Booth accepted the bottle. After a beat, the mischievous light jumped back into his eyes. "What, no ice? Gosh, Bones, I knew you weren't domestic, but I figured you would at least keep _ice_ in the house…"

Temperance hit him playfully on the shoulder as she passed him before dropping into a chair in the living room. "Watch it, you're about this close to imposing on my hospitality." She held her index finger and thumb about an inch apart in the air to illustrate her point.

Booth gave her another smile and dropped onto the couch. "Okay, now where were we?"

Temperance tossed the book to him. "Page 38."

Booth nodded and began reading aloud as Temperance listened.

* * *

The sound of a man's voice caused Temperance to wake with a start.

"Grilled cheese sandwiches…"

When the words unscrambled themselves in Temperance's brain, her heart rate decreased. _Grilled cheese sandwiches?_ She was momentarily confused, and then she heard the voice again.

"I can't take a math test in my underwear…"

Booth. Temperance's mind clicked into place as she recognized the male voice, husky with sleep. Memories of the night before came back to her. At some point, Booth had tossed the book back to her so he could listen while he rested his eyes. They must have both fallen asleep after that. Temperance glanced at the floor, where she saw the book lying upside down. Apparently she had also dropped it before going to sleep.

"I don't know how to fly the rocket…"

Temperance smiled. Seeley Booth talked in his sleep. Somehow that was something she wouldn't have guessed. Temperance glanced out the window at the sky which was lit with the first traces of mornings light. She breathed in a swallow of air. The sky was clear. It looked like it would be a nice day. She smiled. She was in a good mood, she realized. She tried to tell herself that it had nothing to do with the man who was sleeping on her couch. She tried to convince herself that she was just in a good mood because, from what they had read of the book, it paralleled very closely with the murder they were working on. And yet, even as she told herself that her good mood was totally unrelated to Booth, she realized that she had been staring at him and smiling for a good five minutes.

"Bones…"

Temperance's heart rate shot back up. _'He's mumbling in his sleep, that's all,'_ she told herself. _'You don't know if he was dreaming about you. He just said 'bones', not 'Temperance'. He was probably dreaming about actual bones.'_ In spite of her denials, Temperance's heart rate did not decrease.

Booth mumbled something else in his sleep, but it was inaudible, and after saying it he shifted and rolled over on the couch. He was silent for a moment then, and soon Temperance heard him begin to softly snore.

Temperance exhaled a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She stood up from the chair that she had been folded into, her muscles protesting as she did so, and padded quietly to the bathroom where she slipped off her clothes and climbed into the shower. It was early, but she was too awake to fall asleep again now, and besides, they needed to get an early start if they wanted to get to the office safely before Angela.

* * *

Booth woke up a short while later, and after processing that he had, in fact, spent the night at Temperance's house, he moved into a sitting position and waited for his thoughts to finish orienting him.

He had slept well, despite the fact that his legs hung off the couch, and although his muscles and head were vaguely sore, he felt rested. He heard Temperance moving about in her bedroom, and for a moment wondered where she had slept. A quick glance at the chair gave him his answer, as he noted that the pillows which had sat so neatly on it when they arrived the night before were now mashed and in disarray.

Temperance emerged from her room a moment later, dressed and ready to face the day. He gave her a weary smile. "Mornin', Bones."

Temperance felt her stomach flip slightly at the sound of her nickname, recalling his utterance of it when he was sleeping. She gave him a warm smile. "How did you sleep?"

Booth yawned broadly. "Very well." He rubbed his hands over his face. "Would you mind if I used your shower?"

Temperance pointed to the bathroom door. "Towels are in the cabinet," she said as she walked into the kitchen. "Cereal and bagels with coffee okay for breakfast?"

Booth nodded. "Sounds great. Don't go to any extra trouble because I'm here, though."

Temperance turned, rolling her eyes. "It's cereal, Booth." She gave him a slight smile.

Booth smiled back, putting his hands up in defense. "Okay, okay. Thank you."

She nodded briefly as he headed into the bathroom.

While Temperance busied herself in the kitchen, Booth closed the door behind himself in the bathroom. He took a deep breath. The air was a mixture of shampoo, soap, and warm water. The smell was fresh and cozy at the same time. Booth stripped off his clothes and climbed into the shower.

The walls and floor were still wet from Temperance's bath. He noted the fact that suds still clung to the bar of soap that was situated by the conditioner. He started to reach for it, and paused. Was he allowed to use her soap? Somehow it felt so…personal. It was as if he were invading her privacy. _'It's soap,'_ he told himself. _'Soap. What's the big deal?'_ He started to reach for it again, and again he stopped short. _'The big deal is it's hers. The big deal is she uses it when she's naked…'_ He shook his head. "Get a grip," he muttered to himself, and with that he grabbed the bar of soap.

He washed quickly, running some of her shampoo through his hair, scrubbing her soap on his body. When he was finished, he rinsed off the last of the lather the turned the knobs to blast him with a stream of cold water. As the icy stream shot down at him, he willed the thoughts of Temperance to go away. When he was sufficiently calmed down, he turned off the water and began to towel off.

He glanced around her bathroom as he dried himself. It was, he expected, a typical female bathroom. There were some items on the counter that appeared to contain makeup, a hair dryer, two hair brushes, and various other small things that he would expect a girl to have. Face scrub in the shower. Hand lotion. Her razor.

After he was dry, he tied the towel around his waist and gathered up his clothes. He was all that excited about putting on the same clothes he had worn the day before, but knowing he didn't have a choice, he prepared to dress himself. He glanced about the bathroom. His shower had left the air infused with steam, making him feel damp. He pulled on his clothes quickly, and in the process, caught a whiff of his wrist. He paused, lifted it, and smelled it again. He smiled. He smelled like…_her._ Like soap and sandalwood.

After dressing, he stuck his head out the door. "Hey, Bones? Do you have a toothbrush I could use?"

"Under the sink. And there's an extra razor, too, if you want to use it."

Booth used both. After he was finished, he straightened up and headed into the kitchen where Temperance sat, drinking coffee and reading the paper. He saw a bowl sitting on the counter, along with a bagel on plate and a coffee mug and spoon. A box of cereal sat nearby. He helped himself, grabbing the milk quickly from the fridge and pouring it over his flakes before sitting the chair opposite Temperance.

She took a bite of her own cereal and passed him the front page of the paper, which accepted and began reading. They sat for a while in silence, both eating, both reading the news, only commenting occasionally over an article or particularly interesting piece of news.

When they had finished, Temperance rose and cleaned up their dishes. Booth stood up as well, carrying his things to the sink.

"So, are we going to work on tracking down Ophelia Stone today?" Temperance asked as she let the warm water run over the dishes.

"Seems like a good idea. At least we can pick her brain and see if she can offer us any new ideas." They finished the dishes and Temperance and Booth headed to the living room, where they gathered up their things and prepared to head off to work.

"Did you turn the coffeepot off?" Booth asked as they walked toward the door.

"Yeah," Temperance answered. "Don't forget to lock the door behind you."

Booth nodded, pulling the door closed. After he did this, both Temperance and Booth stopped for a moment as their domesticity hit them. When had they become so comfortable with one another? Shaking it off and hoping the other hadn't noticed their hesitation, they both headed for Booth's SUV.

After climbing in, Booth stuck his key in the ignition and turned. Nothing happened. Booth flipped the key back to off, sat for a second, and tried again.

Still nothing. And nothing the third time. Or the forth.

Booth sighed. "We have a problem. It won't start."

"What do you mean it won't start? It has to start."

"It won't start."

"It _has_ to."

Booth put his hands up. "Hey, don't tell me, tell the car. The engine won't turn over."

Temperance gave a frustrated sigh. "Then how are we supposed to get to work?"

Booth shrugged, and Temperance glanced over at him.

Their eyes met, and mutual understanding passed between them. They were going to have to call Angela for a ride.

"Well," Temperance said as she pulled out her cell phone, "this should be fun to explain."

* * *

Reviews are fun for me


	6. Meeting the Author

Author's Note: Thanks for everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I really appreciate that you guys are willing to give me feedback on my stuff. This chapter starts to introduce more of the idea that I had from the beginning, so I hope everyone likes it. Sorry for typos, I'm an absolutely terrible proofreader. Maybe I should get a beta...if anyone is interested in that, let me know :-) Anyway, hope this chapter isn't too terrible, go ahead and read it now.

* * *

Temperance leaned against Booth's SUV, surveying the road, waiting for Angela, as Booth looked around under the hood. Temperance heard him mumble a few things as he worked on sorting out what was wrong, but after a solid fifteen minutes of tinkering, Booth seemed to be no closer to figuring out what the problem was.

"Is there gas in it?" Temperance asked.

Booth let out a frustrated sigh. "_Of course_ there's gas in it. Do you honestly think I'd still be messing around under the hood if there wasn't any gas in it?"

Temperance, slightly irritated by Booth's frustrated response, was about to reply when she Angela's car come into view. She let out a short sigh. "Okay, Angela's here."

Booth closed the car hood and gave Temperance a quick smile. "Well, the upside to the car breaking down is that I'm pretty sure we're about to make Angela's day."

Angela slowed the car to a stop behind Booth's SUV, allowing the engine to idle as Booth and Temperance climbed in. "Morning, guys," she said, a wide smile on her face. "Sleep well?"

Temperance surveyed Angela for a moment. Her friend's eyes were slightly sunken and her skin looked clammy and pale. Sensing an out, Temperance was quick to point out her observation. "Are you feeling alright, Ange?"

Angela's eyes met Temperance's quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said. Her voice had a sharp quality about it, as if she were trying to answer too quickly.

Booth jumped in to help Temperance. "Yeah, Angela, you like kind of pale. Are you getting what the other squints had?"

"Don't call them squints," Temperance said, her eyes studying Angela's face.

Booth looked at Temperance. "Why not? That's what they are—squints. I don't get all offended when they call me a cop."

Temperance glanced back at him. "My team consists of a group of people with a great deal of education and expertise. The term 'cop' communicates the importance of your position. 'Squint' does not communicate the importance of theirs."

"But that's what they do. They squint," Booth pointed out.

"You squint sometimes, too, but we don't call you a squint," Temperance countered.

"Yeah, I squint sometimes, but they squint for a living," Booth said.

Angela sat quietly, an amused smile on her face, watching the interaction. "Okay, okay, I get it. You two don't want to talk about whatever happened last night. You don't want to discuss why Temperance's car never made it to her house, and you don't want to explain why Booth is wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday."

Temperance and Booth, who had for a moment forgotten that they were trying to avoid Angela's inquiry, stopped talking. They both looked at Angela who kept her eyes focused on the road, though a large smile played across her features.

"Nothing happened last night," Temperance said.

Angela lifted one hand from the steering wheel, waving it in a dismissive gesture. "Hey, you don't have to explain anything to me. What you do—or _who_ you do—on your free time is your business."

"I feel asleep on Bones' couch, that's it," Booth said.

Angela waved her hand again. "Hey, I hear you. Totally innocent. Got it." Her smile made Temperance groan.

"Ange…" Temperance began.

She was cut off when Angela pulled into the lot of the Jeffersonian. "We're here!" Angela said, her voice chipper. She pulled into parking space and turned slightly so she could see Booth's face. "Am I supposed to drop you by your office?"

Booth and Temperance exchanged a quick look. "Don't worry about it," Temperance said, fishing her keys from her pocket. "He can just take my car."

Booth nodded and accepted the keys. "I'll be back to pick you up when we get a line on Ms. Stone."

"Great," Temperance said as she climbed out of the car.

Angela smiled mischievously at Booth. "Was it worth the wait?"

"Angela!" Booth said, frustrated.

Angela put her hands up again. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Innocent all the way." With a wink at Booth, she also climbed out of the car. Blowing out a quick sigh, Booth did the same. After waving a last goodbye to Angela and Temperance, he climbed into Temperance's car and sped away.

* * *

At11:00 that morning, Temperance was sitting in her office, working on her book. Okay, so maybe saying that she was _working_ on her book was a bit of stretch. What she was actually doing was staring at the computer screen and occasionally typing things that had nothing to do with the novel she was supposed to be penning. So far she had written a to-do list for her week, a grocery list, and four emails to friends she hadn't seen since college. When Angela swept through the door, Temperance was completely engrossed with looking at her name in different fonts.

Angela dropped onto the couch. "Okay, tell me everything."

Temperance looked over at Angela, doing her best to look annoyed. However, the fact that Angela was in the room gave Temperance a legitimate distraction from her work, so she found that irritation with her friend was hard to conjure up. "Nothing happened."

Angela rolled her eyes high enough that she could gaze briefly at the ceiling. "Don't give me that. Your car was here this morning, which means you never drove it home last night. Since the rest of us left before you, that means that Booth came by at some point and got you. Then, for some reason, you didn't feel that it was necessary to take your car back to your place, so the two of you rode together." Angela put her finger on her chin and pretended to be thinking. "Hmm…now why would the two of you want to ride together? And why go hang out in an apartment?"

"It's not what you think, Ange. Seriously."

Angela cocked her eyebrow in Temperance's direction. "And need I point out that he was wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday?"

Temperance hesitated for a beat. "Yeah, that looks bad. But nothing happened. I found a possible connection between our case and a novel, he came by and gave me a lift to the bookstore, and then, after that, we were both so engrossed in the book that we forgot my car. He ended up falling asleep on my couch."

"Uh-huh," Angela said, leaning forward slightly. "Listen, Bren, sleeping with him isn't that big of a deal. You can tell me about it."

Temperance rolled her eyes. "We did NOT sleep together!" she proclaimed. But then her literal mind betrayed her. "Well, I guess technically we did _sleep_ together, but we didn't have sex."

Angela eyed her curiously. "You swear?"

"I swear!"

Angela looked more frustrated than ever. "Well, why not?"

Temperance was momentarily taken aback. "Beg your pardon?"

Angela threw her hands in the air and stood up. "I give up! This is unbelievable!"

Temperance was still staring at Angela when her office door opened.

"Hey, Bones, I got a lead on Ophelia Stone, let's go." Booth looked at the pair in the office. "Uh…am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing happened. What could there be to interrupt?" Angela said as she walked out the office door.

Booth looked at Temperance who shrugged. "I don't know either. Come on, let's go find Ophelia."

* * *

Ophelia Stone's last known address was located in a small town a short distance outside of D.C. Despite its proximity to the city, the area was quiet and rural, seemingly passed over by world of progress and capitalism which resided in the city of Washington. The streets were quiet and most of the houses in the area were either cheaply made, abandoned, or both. As they drove, Booth filled Temperance in on everything he had learned about Ophelia.

"According the records I pulled up, Ophelia Stone was first published at age 19. At first she was just in magazines and things like that. Minor publications, most of which were ignored. She published her first novel when she was 25, titled _Castles of Sand_. Apparently, it was dubbed a beach read and then fell into obscurity. After that she published one other novel, which never got much critical acclaim. She was 28 when it came out, but then she dropped off the radar for a while. When she was 33 she published again, a mystery this time called _A Time to Plant_. The book was far more popular than her two earlier works, and she started churning out books fairly quickly after that. The pattern of the release of her books seems sporadic. There are lapses where it seems she had stopped writing, but she always seems to come back again. She's 42 now. I called a book dealer to find out how well known she is and I'm told she has a cult following. The dealer told me that she doesn't have many fans, but that the fans she has are loyal. Most people and most critics view her works as average or slightly better."

"The portion of the book we read seemed pretty good," Temperance stated.

Booth nodded. "That's what the dealer told me. Apparently she is known for her technically ability and her use of language. Her problem is her plots. Most people view them as too busy or jumbled. Apparently she doesn't write books that lend themselves to sporadic reading. And often at the end it seems people complain that they are unsure of what has happened."

Booth and Temperance pulled up at the address for Ophelia Stone a few minutes later. The house was small and had a slightly disheveled appearance. The yard was overgrown, the grass needed cutting, and the white siding on the house looked as though it could use a good power washing. The house was one story and square-ish in shape. A small car was parked in the driveway.

Temperance scanned the house with her eyes. "Apparently she doesn't make a great income from her books." Booth just nodded and the two climbed from the car and approached the door.

Seeing that there was no doorbell, Booth rapped his knuckled three times quickly on the pexi-glass panel of the storm door. Somewhere in the background, Temperance heard a dog barking. From the timbre of the yelp, she guessed that the dog was small.

Although the barking continued, no one appeared in the doorway. Booth rapped again, slightly louder this time, and Temperance shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Maybe she doesn't live here," Temperance said as they waited.

Booth shrugged. "Maybe not, but somebody does. Maybe they could at least tell us where we could find her."

Temperance and Booth waited a moment longer and then decided to give up. Just as they were turning to head back to Temperance's car, however, they heard a voice behind them at the door.

"Can I help you with something?" The voice was calm and pleasant but held the faint traces of hesitation that came with greeting someone at your home that you don't know.

Booth and Temperance turned at the sound of the voice and smiled at the figure in the doorway. The glint of the midday sun made the woman's features hard to see, causing her to look faintly like a talking shadow.

"Yes, ma'am," Booth said with a smile. "I'm agent Seeley Booth with the FBI, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan. We were hoping to find a Ms. Ophelia Stone at this residence."

"You found her," the woman said. "What can I do for you?"

Booth smiled again. "We were hoping to talk to you about your books."

The storm door opened as the woman invited Temperance and Booth to come in. Booth and Temperance stepped forward as they accepted the woman's invitation to enter. But then, after they entered the house and could actually see the features of Ophelia Stone, they both paused.

Ophelia Stone bore a striking resemblance to Temperance Brennan.

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	7. Strange People, Strange Places

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to post! Thanks for all the reviews I got on the last chapter. My work schedule has been insane, and on top of that I had a hard time writing the beginning of this chapter. I have no idea why...I knew what I wanted to say, but getting it out proved difficult. Anyway, hope it makes some sense, let me know if it doesn't. Anyway, if you hate it, just tell me. Go ahead and read now, sorry for typos

* * *

Ophelia Stone was not an identical copy of Temperance Brennan; although the two women were the same height and close to the same weight, Ophelia's figure was more emaciated with age. Her reddish-brown locks were prematurely flooded with grey and her face bore the lines that marked the passage of time. Booth noted the numerous faint lines around the woman's mouth; apparently Ophelia Stone was, or once had been, a smoker. Their eyes were slightly different as well; where Temperance's were clear, Ophelia were slightly more vague and clouded, jaded by years of life. Both women shared a similar face shape and jaw line, and Booth noted that both women held themselves in a similar way—with an air of dignity and confidence, though with the subtlest hunch of their shoulders that gave away the fact that they weren't as sure of themselves as they pretended to be.

It was perhaps the stance more than anything that first caught Booth's eye. As strange as it sounded, the way Temperance held herself was something that Booth had always noticed. He liked the way she stood. She silently called for respect, her body always projecting an air of dignity and poise. She moved with grace, and in some odd way, this always made him feel proud of her, proud to be associated with her.

After a few more moments of subtle surveillance, Booth realized that Ophelia Stone looked vaguely like what he could imagine Temperance looking like when she reached age 60. It was obvious that Ophelia had lived a hard life, aging her far beyond her years, but she had quiet dignity and a fire in her eyes that time hadn't touched. Actually, Booth realized, Ophelia perhaps looked more like she could have been Temperance's mother than Temperance herself. While he knew that this was impossible, or at least highly unlikely, he couldn't deny that the resemblance was there.

Temperance, however, failed to notice the resemblance between herself and the older woman. She was instead focused on the living room of the house in which they now stood. The room, which was small to begin with, was made to seem smaller by the fact that it was filled with too much furniture, and hardly a clear surface could be found. Everywhere Temperance's eyes fell she saw stacks of books, papers, and sketches. Also scattered about were quite a few lamps—Temperance counted five in the small space—and small items such as clocks, plants, and a small fish tank. A closer inspection puzzled Temperance further as she noted that, although the bowl had water in it, there were no fish to be found.

As Temperance continued to scan the room, she noted the wallpaper. It had a busy design, and the constant curves and changes in the pattern were almost enough to make Temperance's head sore. The paper also appeared to have been hung poorly, and the seams between the strips of paper were evident. Then, as Temperance traced the straight cut lines with her eyes, she made a strange discovery. The paper had been cut into squares of varying size before it had been hung, and then arranged so that the pattern was disrupted. The boxes varied in size. Scanning the room, it seemed that no particular combination repeated itself more than once.

Perplexed, Temperance continued to drag her eyes around the room until they fell on the only break in the wild papering. This came from the space of the wall around a small desk that sat in the back corner of the room. In this space the wallpaper was covered over with sheets of paper, all of which had been typed and written on, their markings showing that they were works in progress. Parts of a next book, no doubt, Temperance realized.

"I hate to be rude—Agent Booth, is it?—but I'm afraid you've caught me on my way out the door," Ophelia said.

Booth gave her a warm smile. "I understand, Ms. Stone. We won't hold you up. We just came by to ask you about your…" Booth was suddenly cut off by the impatient ringing of his cell phone. He mumbled something under his breath as he pulled it out and checked the ID. He flicked a quick look to Temperance, and then to Ophelia. "I'm sorry, I have to take this. Excuse me." And with that, he stepped back outside.

Temperance gave Ophelia a smile, which was returned. "I'm sorry we caught you at a bad time," Temperance said, stepping in for Booth. "We just came by in hopes of asking you about your books, more specifically about your book _The Darkness Beneath_."

Ophelia was quiet for a moment, thinking, and then her eyes lighted with remembrance. "Oh yes, the woman in someone else's grave. Wrote it a while ago." Ophelia was quiet for a beat. "Why would an FBI agent and a doctor be interested in that?"

"I'm a doctor of forensic anthropology," Temperance explained. "My work is primarily with ancient remains, though I often confer with the FBI on cases in which the victims are difficult to identify by conventional means."

"Conventional?"

"When a simple autopsy will no longer suffice." An oversimplification, Temperance knew, but it seemed the easiest way to explain.

"So am I to assume this means that my book is now somehow involved in a murder case?"

"It would seem so. We were hoping to talk to you to find out…" What? Temperance quite suddenly realized that she had no idea what information she was hoping to get from this woman. "…anything that you know which could aid in our investigation of this case." When in doubt, be vague.

Before Ophelia could answer, Booth stuck his head back in the doorway. "Bones, we need to go."

Temperance turned to Ophelia. "I'm sorry, Ms. Stone." She pulled a card from her pocket. "If you think of anything that could possibly help us, please call me."

Ophelia nodded, accepting the card as Temperance and Booth offered one last apology and left.

Booth climbed into the driver's seat of Temperance's car, and within moments the two pulled away.

"You know, this is my car, Booth. I could drive," Temperance stated as they pulled away.

"And break the tradition? Never," Booth said. Although his comment was meant to be light, his face was laced with tension. Temperance quirked an eyebrow at him, and he answered her question before she asked it. "We have another body."

"Where?"

"Buried, or at least partially buried, in the woods in a garbage bag."

Temperance nodded silently. After a few moments of silence, Booth blurted out, "the remains are small. It might be a kid."

Temperance felt her chest constrict slightly at this news, and she glanced at Booth's hands the steering wheel. His grip was tight enough to make his knuckles go white. Unsure of what to say, Temperance tentatively reached out and rested her hand on Booth's leg. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, though still full of anger. "A kid. Some bastard murdered a kid."

* * *

Hours later, after a brutally slow recovery and hours of examination, Temperance determined that the remains were not those of a child. Although the remains were small, Temperance's study revealed that this was because the bones were those of petite woman. On top of her small stature, the body had also been curled into a fetal position, the elements locking it into its pose. These factors had combined to make the remains appear childlike.

The fact that the remains had not been those of a child did little to ease the ache that was growing in Temperance's chest. She stared at the broken body on her table. The bones were small and fragile; the woman had been unusually small. _'So vulnerable,'_ Temperance thought. Although her study had told her that the woman had been older than she, Temperance, was, she still felt a maternal urge to protect when she saw the small fragments of bone.

Temperance glanced at the clock, and, realizing that it was past 11:00, decided that it was time to head home. She repackaged the remains, put them away, and snapped off her gloves, dropping them in the bio-waste bin as she walked past.

Booth was asleep in her office when she walked in and hung up her lab coat. Since they were sharing a car, he had come by to pick her up after work. She had assured him that she would only be a few more minutes with the remains; that had been two hours ago.

She woke him gently and the two locked up Temperance's office and headed to the car. Booth woke up bit by bit as they walked, but when Temperance slid into the driver's seat, he made no protest.

"Did the mechanic get to your SUV?" Temperance asked as they rolled down the street. Booth had told her earlier that he had had his SUV towed into a shop that was run by a friend of his.

"Yeah," he said. "But he said it's going to be a few days before he can fix it. Is it okay if we carpool for a while longer?"

"Sure," Temperance answered without a thought. "What was wrong with it?"

Booth told her what had broken on the car. "He said that it won't take long to fix once the part comes in," Booth said. He purposely neglected to mention that she had been right earlier—among the problems with the car, he had been out of gas.

Temperance pulled up at her apartment building and then realized that Booth was still in the car. She sighed; the thought of driving to Booth's house and back was not appealing. She was tired from the long day. "Do you just want to take the car and come pick me up in the morning?" she asked.

Booth sighed. "Yeah, sure." He ran a hand over his face, and Temperance saw the drowsy weight of his lids. Suddenly she didn't feel too good about the idea of him driving home.

She glanced in the backseat and saw a small duffle bag. She smiled slightly. Booth had prepared. "Why don't you just stay here tonight?" Temperance blurted out. "You shouldn't be driving home when you're this tired."

Booth stopped in mid-yawn and gave her a quizzical glance. "Are you sure, Bones?"

Temperance shrugged. "Sure." She smiled slightly. "Plus, I see that you came prepared."

Booth gave her a sheepish look. "Thanks, Bones."

And so, the two made their way inside. Temperance took a quick shower and after wrapping herself into a towel and stepping into her bedroom, she yelled to Booth and let him know that it was all his. After dressing in sweatpants and a tee shirt, Temperance stepped into the kitchen to get some water.

Booth stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his face and hair slightly damp, wearing a pair of FBI gym shorts and a tee shirt. Dropping his bag at the end of the couch, he glanced around. "Do you have a pillow and a blanket I could use?" he asked.

"Sure," Temperance answered. She headed to her bedroom and grabbed the items. Walking back out, she placed them on the couch. "Do you need anything else?" She asked, suddenly not quite sure what to do.

He surveyed the couch. "No, I think I've got everything." He smiled, tiredly. "Thanks, Bones. You should get some sleep."

She smiled back, though she felt the same touch of sadness that Booth did. "Yeah," she agreed. They paused for a moment, neither eager to be alone, but when they realized that they were out of things to say, they retreated to their separate spaces.

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Reviews help me make other chapters better than this one


	8. A Long Night

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter! I love to hear from you guys. Sorry this has taken so long to post, apparently my boss no long believes in giving me time off. I've recently begun working with a fantastic beta, so hopefully this one will have less typos. Okay, read on!

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The night did not pass easily for Temperance. Her dreams were filled with the tortured images of faces contorted in pain, rotting away into nothingness before her eyes, and of strained voices screaming in agony, begging for mercy. She heard the manic laughter of the unseen killer and felt sure that she could smell his rancid breath filling the air with his foul, wicked stench. When in the dream the killer walked past a mirror and Temperance saw the reflection of her own face, she awoke with a violent start, her heart racing in her chest as sweat dripped from her brow onto her pillowcase.

She laid in the dark for a few minutes, willing her ragged breathing to slow, trying to calm herself down. She was shaking slightly, she realized. The darkness of her room felt oppressive, and pushing herself up from the mattress, she quickly stepped across the room and flipped on the light.

It was silly, she knew, but as she crossed back to her bed, she was careful to avoid looking in the mirror. It was irrational, yes, but after the dream she knew that she was afraid of her own reflection. She was afraid of the wild eyes, the vacant stare that had answered in the dream when her gaze had strayed to the mirror. She was a killer. She was the evil she was supposed to fight against. She felt sick.

'_Calm down,'_ she told herself, breathing deeply. _'This is ridiculous. You didn't kill anyone. Relax.'_ And yet, even as her rational mind explained to her that her brain was just trying to work through the details of the gruesome sights that she had seen, her body remained on alert, refusing to calm.

Eventually, when it became evident that she wasn't falling asleep again, she pushed herself back to her feet and padded softly across her room to the door. She pushed it open slowly and listened in silence. The only sound that greeted her was Booth's deep breathing.

She tiptoed out. A light from the kitchen cast the room in a faint amber glow, the pale light resting softly on Booth's sleeping face. Temperance stood for a moment, staring at him as he slept. His breathing was rhythmic and measured, peaceful and smooth. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. _'Wake up,'_ she silently willed. _'Wake up.'_ Booth, however, simply slept on.

Temperance blew out a quick sigh, mentally reminding herself that she was pathetic. She was a grown woman, supposedly independent, and yet here she was, standing in her living room at three am, staring at a sleeping man on her couch, wishing he would wake up and remind her that she was okay. With a slight shake of her head, she turned and walked back into her room.

However, even though she was lying in bed, her mind refused to shut up. _'What was the real reason you asked him to stay here tonight?'_ her brain nagged. _'What about last night? Why don't you want him to leave?'_ She covered her face with her hands. She knew the answer to these questions, of course. The case was getting to her; she was feeling pain at the sight of the victims' desecrated remains, she was feeling rage at their unknown killer, she was feeling a chest numbing ache with every new piece of information that she uncovered, but must fundamentally and most importantly, she was _feeling_. She was supposed to be able to disconnect from the horror of the cases. She had to. Feeling a personal connection led to mistakes, and, even more than that, feeling a personal connection to the dead led to psychological and emotional breakdowns. It had happened before to others in her field; the constant barrage of death that they were forced to deal with led to an emotional overload. If they weren't careful to keep themselves in check, they would be crushed under the weight.

She was never completely detached, of course. She always felt something for the victims, whether they were recent or ancient. She felt pity for them, wished they hadn't had to die, but that was as far as she let her emotions go. Allowing them to go further was dangerous.

And yet, as she lay there in the dark, Temperance knew that it was getting to her this time. She was jaded, exhausted by the deluge of human anguish that surrounded her constantly. On some level, she also understood that this was why she looked for forward to seeing Booth; he didn't work with the dead. While his work brought him in contact with killers, he was always dealing with people who had a pulse. His presence in the lab reminded her that people were still alive outside of the sterile walls of the autopsy rooms. This was why the other "squints" tolerated him so easily as well; he was the personification of life to their world.

She tiptoed out of the room again and looked at him. His breathing was just as measured as before, him face just as calm. His eyelids fluttered slightly with REM, and she smiled. Booth was a good man. He fought for life, for protection for the innocent. Her chest constricted again as she thought of herself in comparison to him. What did she do? She gave faces to those who had already had their lives taken away; she protected no one.

Sinking down into the chair she had slept in the night before, Temperance continued to stare at Booth's face, images from her dream mingling with the bodies in her lab and the image of Booth's sleeping form. Curling her legs under her, she felt her breath hitch. When it hit her that she was sitting in something of a fetal position, she remembered the body from the woods, and the memory was enough to push her over the edge. She buried her face into her knees and silently sobbed until she fell asleep almost an hour later.

* * *

Temperance was up before Booth the next morning, thereby avoiding any awkward questions about why she had slept curled in a ball in her living room chair when she had a perfectly good bed empty in the next room. The two went through the same routine as the day before, the only exception being that the car worked when they climbed in, and headed off to work.

Temperance dropped Booth off at his office. "So, you'll call when you're done for the day?" she asked as he gathered his things and prepared to climb from the car.

"Yeah. I don't think I'll be all that late," he answered. When he had all of his things in his hands, he gave her a warm smile. "Alright, I guess I'll see you tonight, then. I'll call you if anything new develops on the case."

Temperance smiled back, her horrible night momentarily eclipsed by Booth's presence. "Okay. See you later on." And with that he had climbed from the car and she had driven off.

She arrived at the Jeffersonian at 8:30 am that morning. It was later than usual for her, and she expected Angela to launch into a round of questions when she entered, but much to Temperance's surprise, Angela was nowhere in sight.

Zach, however, was in sight. And, upon seeing Dr. Brennan, he crossed the room and bid her a good morning.

"Morning, Zach," she answered him as she dropped her things in her office. "Are you feeling better?"

Zach nodded. "Much," he answered. Temperance glanced at him. His skin still looked slightly pale, and the circles under his eyes were still vaguely present, but she noted that overall he seemed much brighter. His eyes seemed more focused, and his voice was stronger. Temperance smiled. She hadn't quite realized how much she had missed having Zach around.

Temperance filled her assistant in on the details of their new case so far. He listened intently, his manner as professional and formal as it always was. When she had finished giving him an overview, she instructed him to pull out the body they had found the day before so that she could begin a more thorough examination.

As Zach began doing just this, Temperance caught sight of Angela out of the corner of her eye. The artist looked slightly pale, and as she walked, Temperance noted that she didn't seem to be quite registering what was going on or what she was doing. Temperance waved to her and got her attention, and Angela walked over.

"Morning, Sweetie," Angela said, her voice tired.

"Morning, Ange. How are you feeling?"

Angela gave Temperance a tight lipped smile. "Fine. Never better."

Temperance shook her head. "You're sick, Ange. Just go home."

"_No_," Angela answered. "I'm not sick."

Temperance sighed in exasperation. "You always say that. It's okay to be sick once in a while, you know."

Angela remained defiant. "I admit when I'm sick. It's just that today I am _not_ sick."

Temperance shrugged, admitting defeat, and gave her friend a smile. "Okay, whatever you say," she answered. Zach returned then with the remains, and the artist and forensic anthropologist parted company to begin work on their various tasks of they the day.

At 11:30, Temperance was still unclear about what had caused the death of the young girl on her table. She placed the woman's age in the range of 40 to 50, though determining an exact age was almost impossible. Features of the bone suggested the woman had been Caucasian, and damage to the bones suggested that she wasn't in the best of health. Despite these things, Temperance felt the now familiar stab of pain as she viewed the remains. She drew a shaky breath and tried to calm herself. When this didn't work, she realized that she needed a breath. She told Zach to work on cause of death and, snapping off her gloves, she headed back to her office. Maybe she could get some work done on her book before she was needed again.

When Temperance arrived in her office, she found a white envelope sitting on her desk. Her name was on the front, typed, and assuming it was just a staff memo of some kind, she tore it open.

The note that fell out was a far cry from a staff memo. On the white paper, Temperance read the words: "Cover Your DEAd wItH bramblEs aNd roOt. aNother foR tHe count. tIMe tickS againSt yOu."

'_The killer,'_ Temperance's mind instantly reacted. _'How did this get here?'_

Before she had time to process this, however, her phone rang. Without a thought, she lifted the receiver. "Brennan."

The voice on the other end of the line was somewhat tentative. "Dr. Brennan? This is Ophelia Stone."

Temperance's brain snapped back. "Oh, hello, Ms. Stone, how are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. I wanted to call and apologize for yesterday. I'm worried that I wasn't very welcoming."

Temperance paused for a beat. "No, I mean, we caught you at a bad time…"

"Yes, well, regardless, I feel just terrible about it. I know you had some questions for me, and I wanted to let you know I'm willing to answer whatever I can tell you, thought I'm not sure how much help I can be."

"Any information you could share with us would be a great help," Temperance encouraged, excited by the possibility of information. "Are you free for lunch?"

Ophelia hesitated for a moment, as if checking her watch. "Sure, I don't think I have anything I need to do this afternoon. Where would you like to meet?"

And so, after making the necessary plans with Ophelia, Temperance quickly gathered her things and hurried from the Jeffersonian.

* * *

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	9. The Midday Meeting

Author's Note: Okay, I know, its been a really long time since I updated. I'm a slacker. Sorry about that! Anyway, thanks for the reviews to the last chapter, I hope people are still sticking with this story even though it's taking me a while to put together. Bear with me, hopefully the end will justify all the waiting. :-) Okay, that's all I have to say except for sorry again and I'll try to do better in the future (ignore the fact that I say that every time) Go ahead and read now.

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Temperance dialed Booth's office and cell phone as she drove to meet Ophelia. When she got no answer on either, she left a message for him at his office, letting him know that Ophelia had called and that she was meeting her for lunch. Temperance also gave the name of the restaurant, though she knew this was mostly irrelevant information as Booth had no means of transportation to join them. She mentioned that she had received what she believed to be another message from the killer, and told him to call back before she clicked off the line.

After being stuck in a slight backlog of traffic, Temperance pulled her car into a parking space near the entrance of the restaurant. She checked her watch; she was five minutes later than she had said she would be. She cast a quick glance around, but when she didn't see Ophelia, she assumed that the other woman had not arrived yet. Hitting the lock for her doors, Temperance dropped her keys into her bag and climbed from the driver's seat.

The restaurant was busy, but there were a few open tables. Temperance found one open in the corner which afforded her a view of the parking lot and settled in to wait for her companion. She ordered a cup of hot tea and rested her elbows on the table. Her gaze alternated between the parking lot and the faux wood countertop as she waited.

Ophelia arrived about three minutes after the tea. Settling in, Ophelia looked slightly frazzled.

"I'm so sorry," she said apologetically as she stripped off the light jacket she was wearing. "Traffic."

Temperance nodded in understanding. "Sure, no problem. I got stuck in it myself."

Ophelia finished situating herself as the waiter appeared. The two gave the menu a cursory glance and ordered. When he had walked away, they turned their attention back to one another.

Temperance gave Ophelia what she hoped was a friendly smile. "I appreciate your meeting with me, Ms. Stone."

"Absolutely. Anything to help the FBI," Ophelia answered.

Temperance smiled again. "As I am not a member of the FBI myself, you should understand that this interview is primarily off the record. You will more than likely be asked to meet again with my partner, Agent Booth, for a formal interview."

Ophelia nodded as the waiter returned, delivering her tea. Ophelia took a sip as he walked away and Temperance continued. "Let's start with you. When did you start writing?"

Ophelia set her mug back on the table, quiet for a moment as she thought. "I don't know, actually. I've always written. Not always published, of course, but I've kept journals and written short pieces for as long as I can remember. I was first published when I was…" she was quiet for a beat, thinking, "in the fifth grade, I guess it was. I wrote a poem for a school contest and ended up making into some esoteric junior poet's anthology or something."

Temperance nodded. "What was the poem about?"

Ophelia smiled slightly. "Lost love."

Temperance raised her eyebrow. "You were writing about lost love when you were in the fifth grade?"

Ophelia laughed lightly. "More like lost puppy love, I guess. I had a crush on a boy in the sixth grade, and he moved away. I don't think he even knew who I was." Ophelia smiled the easy smile of someone remembering a childhood long past. "I never knew what ever happened to him. Married by now, I guess." After a quick beat of silence, she continued. "It's strange, isn't it?"

Temperance, who had been drinking her tea, set it back on the table. "What?'

Ophelia shrugged. "I don't know…life. People. How we can be so wrapped up in what is going on in our lives, but yet in twenty years we won't even remember the players, much less what the situation was." She smiled again, almost wistfully. "It's strange how easily we can just forget." This sentence was spoken in a slightly softer tone, as if referencing a specific event.

The change in tone did not escape Temperance's notice. Booth's words echoed in her head—go with your gut—and she spoke on pure impulse. "Were you raised in D.C.? Do you have family here?"

A brief shot of pain fired through Ophelia's eyes, but was almost immediately replaced by cool stillness. "No."

The response was sharp and echoed of a deep set pain. Temperance picked up on it instantly; it mirrored the way she sounded whenever she spoke about her parents. Doing her best to tread softly, she pressed on. "Where are they?"

Ophelia sagged back in her chair, not meeting Temperance's gaze, shrugging slightly. "I don't have any family."

"Where were you raised?"

"New York," Ophelia answered quietly. Her tone was rigid.

"How old were you when you left?"

Ophelia voice was cool when she glanced up at Temperance and responded. "I don't see how any of this is relevant."

Their food arrived at that moment, and the two took a moment of silence to settle it in front of themselves. When they were ready to eat and the waiter once again departed, Ophelia sighed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just…I don't like to talk about my past."

Temperance elected to once again go with her gut. Meeting Ophelia in the eyes, she answered. "I lost my parents when I was fifteen. I understand not wanting to talk about it." The response was so personal, so unlike Temperance, that she almost surprised herself.

Ophelia looked surprised as well, and Temperance shifted her attention to her tea. She was used to the apologies. She was used to the sympathy. She had always hated the stuttered words, the broken clichés that people so freely dished out in regard to her tragedy. And yet, just as Temperance was preparing herself for the flood of overused words which she knew were surely coming, Ophelia surprised her.

"They live in Chicago. My parents, I mean. At least I think they do. I don't really keep in touch with them."

Temperance glanced up at the other woman and nodded, and then elected to change the subject. "Where do you get the inspiration for your books?"

Ophelia blew out a quick sigh. "That's a tough one." She was quiet for a moment. "I don't know, really. The stories are just there, given to me, in my head. I transcribed whatever my mind says." She shrugged. "Not really a concrete method, I guess, but it's all I really know." There was a weight to her words, as though there were something more hiding behind the simplistic speech, but Temperance chose not to press.

"When did you choose to become a professional writer?"

"I didn't really," Ophelia answered. "I needed money, and I had a lot of time constraints. I was actually working as a waitress, but I knew I couldn't do that for long, at least not if I wanted to make enough money to survive. I wrote whenever I had the chance and eventually I had a book. It was like my ray of light; a chance to actually make some money, a means to finally got on my feet. It didn't really take off, but it was a start."

Temperance nodded. "I noticed that there is a large gap of time between your early works and your first mystery. What was happening during that time?" Temperance knew that this was barely a valid question, but she also knew that she was running out of ideas as to what to ask.

Ophelia met her gaze. "Life was hectic then. Things happen. Situations get in the way."

Temperance nodded. "Of course."

Ophelia continued to stare for a moment, but then her gaze softened and she glanced down. When she lifted her head again, the darkness had left her eyes. "You're a writer as well, aren't you Dr. Brennan?"

"I wouldn't say I'm a writer. Writing for me is more of a hobby than anything else."

Ophelia nodded slowly. "Hobbies make the best careers," she said with a smile.

Temperance smiled as well. "Not in every case."

Ophelia nodded. The two sat quietly for a moment, eating, before Ophelia spoke again. "How long have you had it? The writer's block, I mean."

Temperance, surprised, glanced up. "What makes you think I have writer's block?"

Ophelia shrugged. "Do you?"

Hesitating for a moment, Temperance answered. "Maybe a little."

Ophelia nodded. "It's a bitch, isn't it?"

Temperance couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped her, and Ophelia smiled in response. The conversation began to flow easily then, and by the time the meal had ended and the bill had been paid, Temperance and Ophelia were feeling very comfortable in one another's company.

As they departed for the parking lot, Temperance addressed Ophelia once again. "Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Stone."

"Ophelia, please, there's no need to be so formal. And I'm happy to help in any way I can."

"I'm sure Agent Booth will be in touch about doing a formal interview."

"Certainly. He has my number so he can contact me?"

"I'll make sure he gets it."

The two women smiled at one another again as they prepared to part company. "Maybe if you have some time, we can get together again and talk about your books. I'm always interested in spending time with other artists."

Temperance smiled. "I'm not an artist."

Ophelia smiled. "We are all artists, Dr. Brennan, even if our canvases are different."

"Temperance, please."

Ophelia extended her hand, which Temperance shook. "I'll call you, Temperance. Maybe we can work through your writer's block."

Tempe smiled. Something about Ophelia was soothing, and she found that she had taken a genuine liking to the woman after only a short lunch. This was unusual for her; normally she was far to reserved to truly get close to new people. With Ophelia, however, she hadn't felt invaded. She hadn't felt the familiar urge telling her to lift her walls. She had felt simply relaxed. She had to admit the company had been nice.

"I'll look forward to your call," Temperance said, and with that the two departed.

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Reviews are fantastic things 


	10. Working it Out

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews to the last chapter! I always appreciate it when people take the time to give me feedback. Believe it or not, it really does help me. Okay, now, about this chapter-I make a reference in this chapter to a killer called the Zodiac. The Zodiac was a real serial killer who was never caught. He sent taunting letters to the police and the media, complete with codes and sheets for decoding. If you want to know more about him, drop me a PM or go to Court TV Crime Library. Anyway, I think that's all you need to know for this one. I hope you like it! Go ahead and read.

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"I can't believe you talked to a witness without me!"

Temperance sighed, allowing the cool fall breeze to tangle through her hair as she and Booth rode down the highway. She closed her eyes for the briefest moments, taking a deep breath as the last streaks of orange-gold sunshine caressed the landscape. The scent of leaves and grass was almost enough to block out the annoyance in Booth's voice.

Almost. "You're not a member of the FBI! You have no right to interrogate witnesses! Not to mention the fact that you didn't tell anyone beforehand! Christ, Bones, anything could have happened to you and it would have been hours before anyone knew! I mean, what were you thinking?"

Temperance took a deep breath, trying to keep her tone rational. "First of all, she isn't a witness. We don't think she _saw_ anything. She's just a reference. Secondly, I _did_ call you, and I left you a message telling you where I was. If anyone had wanted to find me, they would have needed to look no further than your answering machine. And, on top of all that, need I remind you that I am an adult, capable of taking care of myself. I met a woman for lunch. It may shock you to learn this, but adult women have met for lunch before. It's not a cause for alarm."

"It's not your job to talk to the suspects!"

"She's not a suspect! She's a _reference_. It is my job to conduct research!" Swallowing a breath, Temperance willed herself to calm down. Her cool rationality was slowly being eradicated by her growing annoyance.

"You were still out of line! What if she wants to hide something? If you get her spooked, we could lose contact!"

"What do you mean 'if I get her spooked'? What are you trying to imply?"

"That it's not your place to talk to witnesses!"

"She isn't a witness! And for God's sake, would you PLEASE stop yelling at me! I am not a child!"

Booth was quiet for almost a full second. "It still is not your place!"

"BOOTH!"

Booth slouched back in the passenger seat, still grumbling, his words mumbled to low for Temperance to hear. Temperance sighed. "Look, I told her it wasn't a formal interview, alright? I told her that I didn't technically have the authority to conduct a full formal interview, and that you would have to talk to her."

Booth remained sullen, and Temperance gave an exaggerated eye roll. "God, Booth, it seems like you should be _happy_ about this! I told you, we got along really well. It can only help our case if she feels comfortable around me! She'll be more willing to share things with me if she feels like she can trust me!"

"Pretend I slapped my forehead for not realizing that sooner."

Temperance released a loud, frustrated sigh. "Fine. Sit there and sulk. I don't care." And with that, the two finished out the ride home in an irritated silence.

When Temperance pulled her car in front of her apartment building, Booth broke the chilly quiet. "Um, aren't you forgetting something?"

Temperance glanced at him. "What?"

"Uh, hello? Did you forget that I need a ride home? That I don't live here?"

Temperance remained poker faced, her anger with his paternal attitude controlling the words that came from her mouth. "No. I figured you could walk from here."

Booth looked at her in disbelief, and she shrugged. "Call a cab if you want. I don't care. I'm going inside." And with that, she climbed out of the car and left an openmouthed Booth sitting in the driveway.

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After unlocking her apartment door and letting herself in, Temperance had to make a conscious effort not to glance down and see if Booth was still sitting outside. _'He's a jerk,'_ she told herself. _'I'm not going to worry about how he's getting home. He can sit out there all night for all I care.'_ Mentally congratulating herself for her iron resolve, Temperance wandered over to her answering machine to check her messages.

There were three. One from her editor, the chipper and yet strained voice reminding her that her next draft was being eagerly anticipated; one brief message from Angela requesting a call back; one hang up. Opting to return the call to Angela, Temperance grabbed the phone and punched in her friend's number.

"Hello?" Angela sounded weary.

"Hey, Ange."

Angela's voice lightened almost imperceptibly when she heard Temperance's voice. "Hey, Sweetie."

"I just got your message. What's going on?"

"Nothing really, just wanted to see what you were up to tomorrow night."

"Working on this case, I guess."

"Or working on your book?"

"Yeah. Or that."

"What's the deal there? You don't seem real into writing these days."

"I'm not," Temperance answered simply.

"Ah." Angela hesitated for a moment. "But in either case, you're working, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so, why?"

"I was thinking I could get us some junk food and we could have a girl's night."

"That sounds fun."

"I'll get pizza and chips, we can bring our laptops..."

Temperance smiled. She knew Angela didn't really approve of her habit of working on the weekends, but her friend was also nice enough to allow her to construct her life as she so chose. "Aren't you going to be bored?"

"Nah. I have work to catch up on too, actually. And I can rent us a movie that I'll watch and you'll ignore."

"Don't you usually go out on Saturday nights?"

"Not in the mood."

"That's not like you."

"What can I say? I'm a fickle person."

"A fickle person who caught Zach's cold."

"I'm not sick."

"Sure."

There was a beat of silence that Temperance considered to be Angela's way of conceding. With a smile, Temperance spoke again. "So, what time do you want to come by?"

"Around 7?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Looking forward to it. Night, Sweetie."

"Night, Ange." And with that the two clicked off the line.

After completing her conversation with Angela, Temperance set about the task of making dinner. She micro-zapped a frozen burrito and popped open a can of Sprite. Nutrition is so overrated.

After organizing her high quality meal onto a plate and grabbing a napkin, Temperance dropped everything onto her table and promptly ignored it as she began spreading out her notes on the case. She eyed the note that had been on her desk that morning and reminded herself that she had forgotten to give it to Booth. Too late now. She opened her laptop, plugged the cable into the wall, and began the tedious task of organizing her facts.

About three hours later, Temperance's burrito was uneaten and cold, her Sprite was flat and warm, and her eyes were heavy and tired. She sighed. She had been working on the note for the last two hours and was still drawing a blank on ideas for what it meant and for who sent it.

She pulled away from her task when she heard a gentle rapping on her door. Standing and taking a moment to briefly stretch, she padded to the doorway and glanced through the peephole.

She pulled the door opened to find a sheepish looking Seeley Booth. Crossing her arms over the chest, she quirked an eyebrow at him, offering no greeting.

"I'm sorry?" He tried.

Temperance still didn't speak.

"I was an idiot?"

"Keep going."

"A jerk?"

"And?"

"And…a real ass?"

Temperance sighed. "Fine. Apology accepted."

Booth smiled, and Temperance was surprised to note that his smile spread to her face. "So, what are you doing here?" She asked, holding the door open in such a way that he knew he was invited in.

He stepped into the room. "I actually needed a favor."

She raised her eyebrow again. "That was pretty bold."

Booth flashed his charm smile. "I knew once I got here you wouldn't be able to resist me."

Temperance rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Temperance was quiet for a beat. "Sorry, Booth, there's not a whole lot I can do about that."

Now it was Booth's turn to roll his eyes. "I have Parker this weekend, remember? Only my car broke down. I was supposed to pick him up this afternoon, but I called Rebecca and told her I wouldn't be able to get him 'til tomorrow. The only catch is, I still won't have a car." Charm smile.

"Oh, I see, so you just came over here and apologized so that I would lend you my car?"

Booth looked sheepish. "Well, no, not really…"

Temperance laughed slightly. "Fine. You can use it." Booth smiled and Temperance continued. "But I'll have you know, the only reason I'm doing this is because I like Parker. You I'm still on the fence about."

Booth smiled. "I'm sure I'll eventually win you over."

"Shouldn't the FBI have given you another car by now?" Temperance asked, ignoring his comment.

"Apparently there has been a run on FBI vehicles this week. One agent smashed his up in an accident, one had his tires slashed, and then mine." Booth shrugged. "They probably could have gotten me a car, but I told them it wasn't a big deal."

Temperance paused for a moment. "Why would you do that?"

Booth, realizing his statement, began to blush ever so slightly. "Well, you know, we're partners and all, so I figured if anything relevant to the case happened, I could just ride with you."

"So, basically you told the FBI not to give you a new car because you figured you could just steal mine?"

Booth, coming back to himself slightly, flashed Temperance a smile. "Basically." Temperance had to give a slight smile in return. "And also the repairs to my SUV shouldn't take long. It'll be ready on Monday, Tuesday at the latest. I figured you could put up with me 'til then." Broad smile.

Temperance chuckled under her breath, and Booth's gaze landed on the table, which was strewn with paper and uneaten food. "Working on the case?" He asked.

"In theory," she answered, walking back toward her chair.

Booth followed. "Do you have the note you told me about?"

Temperance fished it out of the stack and handed it to him. "Knock yourself out. I have no idea what it means."

Booth creased his forehead and read through the message several times. A short while later he spoke, his eyes still glued to the sheet. "Whoever it is, they're either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid."

Temperance glanced at him. "How does that help us?"

Booth looked up. "It doesn't. At least not yet. Maybe it will eventually."

Temperance seemed to contemplate this for a moment, and then refocused her attention back on her computer screen where she had brainstormed ideas on the note. "There were shorter sentences in the second note," she commented.

"And this time the killer almost seemed to warn us that more murders are coming."

Temperance nodded. "Strange almost poetic quality in both cases."

"And, of course, the capitalization."

Temperance nodded. "An anagram? A code of some kind? Or just random selections to throw us off?"

Booth shrugged. "It seems significant, but it also seems obvious. You said the body had been in that grave for about a year. A year is a long time to go without detection; this guy wasn't even on our radar. 'Obvious' doesn't seem like his style."

"Then what's the point?"

Booth shrugged again, turning his palms upward. "A distraction? I don't know. It just doesn't seem to fit."

"Maybe that's the point. The killer is getting away with things; maybe he or she likes a challenge. Maybe the notes are a taunt and the letters are an anagram. Maybe this guy sees himself as the next Zodiac."

"I'd say this guy is a bit more simplistic than the Zodiac."

Temperance and Booth sat quietly for a moment, thinking. A few more minutes of silence ensued, and soon Temperance found herself yawning. Booth looked up at her and smiled.

"I guess I better get going. You're tired."

"I'm not," yawn, "tired."

Booth smiled. "I can see that."

When he started to stand to leave, Temperance had a moment of constriction in her chest. "Wait, don't go yet." The words were out of her mouth before she had thought them through.

Booth paused, glancing at her. Seeing his expression, Temperance fumbled for an explanation to her words. "I mean, we could do some more work on the case."

Booth's confused expression softened. "It's late, Bones. We're both tired. Why don't we just call it a night? We can work on this later."

Temperance nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess."

Booth smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll work it out." He gave her a wink that caused an involuntary flutter in her stomach that she chose not to analyze. "We always do."

Temperance smiled back at him, and after bidding their goodnights, she twisted her car key off the ring and handed it to Booth. With one last round of pleasantries and a somewhat awkward hug, he left.

She stood at the door for a moment after she had closed it behind him, allowing her hand to rest on the cool wood. She wished that he hadn't left. As needy as it sounded, Temperance realized that she had wanted him to ask to stay. She wanted him to _want_ to stay. She was annoyed by her own desire.

The truth was she didn't want him to stay just because she was attracted to him. Yes, Booth was handsome, and she wasn't blind, but the fact of the matter was she simply didn't want to be alone. She was dreading turning out the light and curling up under the sheets, left naked to her mind. She knew that the nightmare could return, and with Booth out of the house, she knew that there was no one to go to, no comforting presence in the living room for her to sit with to make it alright. She suddenly had a moment of regression: she wanted to be five years old again, curled up with a teddy bear beside her mother, being told that the bad dreams would go away. She glanced around her quiet apartment. There was no one there to smooth the hair on her forehead and tell her that it would all be okay.

With a sigh, Temperance threw her uneaten dinner in the trash the poured the stale Sprite down the drain. Straightening up the papers into neat stacks on her table and shutting down her computer, she began turning off lights and preparing for bed. Twenty minutes later she found herself lying the dark, eyes wide open, listening intently to the silence. Almost nervously, she closed her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep.

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Want to make me happy? All you have to do is hit that little button


	11. In the Middle of the Night

Author's Note: Thanks for all the great reviews! I hope you guys like this chapter. If you don't, just let me know. I guess that's all I really have to say...my computer is messing up, so I hope this comes out right. Okay, read on...

_The night was cold and overcast. Standing in the middle of a darkened field, Temperance gazed up toward the sky, noting that the stars had been completely blocked out by the thick clouds that crowded against one another, battling for dominance in the night sky. In the distance, she felt certain that she heard the faint rumble of thunder. A storm was coming._

_Turning her attention to the ground, Temperance's eyes were greeted with the image of a corpse, a young woman, lying broken on the ground. The body was not yet decomposed—in fact, it was still leaking blood—and Temperance wondered for a moment why she had been called out to recover it. She stared at the body for a few more seconds, watching in macabre fascination as the crimson liquid flowed from the body, consuming the alabaster snow that blanketed the ground. Slowly, the white earth at Temperance's feet was saturated by the maroon flood…_

"_Bones!" His voice cut through the night. Snapping her head up, Temperance saw Booth jogging toward her. "We have to get out of here!"_

_The thunder rumbled louder. "Okay! Just get me a body bag to package the remains and we can go!" she called back._

_Booth was closer to her now. She noted the expression on his face—a strange twist of pain and pity. "Bones, you can't be here right now. We have to get you out of here."_

_Temperance felt more puzzled than angry. "Okay. Just get me the body bag. Then we can go."_

_Booth was standing in front of her by this point, and he reached out and put his hands on her upper arms, as if convincing her to look into his eyes. His fingers were like ice. "Bones?" he said, his voice questioning. "It's going to be okay, Bones. We'll get her. Just come with me now. Just let me get you out of here."_

_Temperance, still confused, glanced at the ground. And then, she understood. She understood why Booth was trying to take her away. She saw what he had been trying to protect her from._

"_ANGELA!" she shrieked, dropping to her hands and knees. Her hands grabbed for her friend's shoulders, her fingers pressing to her neck, vainly searching for a pulse, her vision growing blurry as she continued to scream._

_She felt Booth's hands on her arms as he lifted her up. Kicking her legs, screaming to be let back down, she struggled against him. He was strong, however, and he heaved her up, pulling her against his chest and moving her away._

_His fingers were numb with cold, and her struggling caused his hands to momentarily slip. When he did, Temperance seized the opportunity to run. He caught her almost immediately, however, now spinning her around so her face was turned toward his chest._

_He hugged her to him then, and she hit her fists on his chest as she was overcome by sobs, her entire body convulsing with the strain. As her frame shook, Booth just pulled her tighter, enveloping her in his arms, running his hands through her hair, trying to sooth her, trying to absorb her anguish._

_Temperance had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually Booth placed his finger under her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. "I know, baby. I know. But we have to get out of here now. We have to go where it's safe. We have to go now."_

"_We can't leave her…" her voice was choked with sobs._

"_Shh…it's okay. It's going to be okay. Just come with me. We'll get her. Just come with me now." His eyes were pleading hers to understand._

_Understanding that he was trying to protect her, Temperance nodded slightly and laced her fingers through Booth's. Then, they began to run, back in the direction from which Booth had come._

_Soon, Temperance found that they were running through the woods. "The car's just on the other side of these trees," Booth puffed out as they ran. "We're almost there."_

_And then, abruptly, Temperance stopped. She stood, completely frozen, in the middle of the woods, staring at Booth. He turned around and gave her a questioning look. "Come on, Bones, we have to go!"_

_Temperance just shook her head, and Booth walked back toward her. "Come on, Bones. Just come with me. Please."_

_Temperance continued her mute stare._

"_Bones, please just…" and then Booth stopped speaking, fear flashing in his eyes. "Bones, what the…"_

_Temperance looked down at her clothing, which was stained with Angela's blood. Then she glanced at her hand, which was now raised in the air, a knife clenched tightly in her fingers. The silver blade shone with shiny red._

"_Oh, God, Bones…" Booth said. "What have you done…"_

"_I had to, Booth," Temperance answered, her voice strangely calm. "It had to be done."_

"_She was your best friend…"_

"_The snow creeps over her bones…"_

_Booth's eyes shone with utter terror. "Please, Temperance, no, don't do this…"_

_Temperance smiled. "Another for the count." And with that, she began to bring her arm forward, the blade flying toward Booth as he screamed, seemingly unable to move out of its path…_

"BOOTH!" Temperance screamed as she sat bolt upright in bed. Her chest was heaving and her skin was soaked in a cold sweat. "Oh my God, Booth, Booth..." She repeated his name again and again as she struggled to untangle her legs from the sheets. As her eyes darted about in the darkness she believed that she could still see the blood--Angela's blood, Booth's blood--and, redoubling her efforts against the sheets, she shrieked again.

She had just lunged free of the blankets when she heard a loud _CRASH!_ and the noise caused her to jump again. Her eyes were blurry with tears, her entire body was shaking, and suddenly all she could think was _'Someone is in my house. Someone knows what I've done.'_ Desperately looking around, still believing she could see the non-existant blood, her brain began to scream, _'run! Hide!'_ She was completely lost to her terror as her eyes flew around the room, seeking a place of concealment.

He burst into her room then, yelling her name. However, the hysteria from the dream was still holding strong, and so she opted to continue hiding in the shadows by the bed instead of answering his voice.

Booth froze and stood perfectly still. In the silence that wrapped the room, he perceived her quiet whimpering, and from it he determined her location. He threw on the light, the room suddenly washed in its golden glow, and he was at her side in an instant.

He kneeled in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She averted her eyes from his, her body still trembling.

Seeing her state of fear, Booth did his best to speak soothingly. "Bones," he said, rubbing his hands down her arms. "It's okay. Calm down. It's just me." She voiced no response, only shook harder. "Bones, listen to me. Shh...it's okay. It's going to be okay."

At this statement, she roughly pushed his hands away and tried desperately to move away from him.

He quickly grabbed her arms again, however, and held her steady. "BONES! It's just me. It's Booth. Calm down. It's just me."

She allowed her eyes to meet his, and it was as though she were seeing him for the very first time. "Booth?" she said, her voice weak and tentative.

"Yeah, Bones," he said, careful to keep his tone quiet. He saw the exhausion in her eyes. He knew that she was still struggling to wake up from what appeared to be a horrible dream. He saw the wild confusion and fear swirl through her irises. He recognized the look. It was the same look Parker had given him when he had woken up from a nightmare that had been inspired by some television show he had seen. Not entirely sure what to do, he decided to try to comfort Temperance the same way he had comforted his child that night.

"It's okay," he said, slowly stroking her arm. "It's just me. You're safe. It's just me."

She stared at him, still working out the lines between reality and her dreams. "But...you're dead. You died. I saw..."

He did his best to give her a reassuring smile. "It wasn't real, Bones. I'm here. I'm fine. Nothing happened to me."

"I saw the blood...I saw Angela..."

"Angela's fine, too. It was just a dream. Shh...just a dream."

He continued to stroke her arms, softly telling her that she was alright, that he was alright, that it was just a nightmare. Eventually, she began to calm.

As her breathing slowly began to return to normal, Booth moved closer. Before long he found that he had wrapped Temperance in his arms. He rocked her gently as her heart rate continued to slow.

When she was sufficiently calm, he sat back slightly and placed a finger under her chin. Lifting her face so that she was looking him in the eyes, he smiled. "Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

She shook her head. "It was...it was so real."

He nodded. "But it was just a dream, Bones. It didn't happen."

"I saw you get killed. I saw Angela dead..." she shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the images. Booth felt his chest ache. He wished he could take the visions away. He wished there was something he could actually do. However, he instead chose to simply continue rubbing her arms.

"I didn't die. I'm fine."

She looked him in the eye. "You were killed right in front of me," she whispered.

He smiled. "But I _wasn't_ killed. Look at me. I'm fine." He took her hand and placed it over his heart so that she could feel the beat. "I'm alive."

She curled her fingers lightly in his shirt as she stared at his chest. "I thought...you were right in front of me." She looked back at his face. She wanted to explain it to him. She wanted to tell him that she had been the one who killed him. She wanted him to know how terrified the thought of losing him made her, how sickened she had felt when she saw the blade in her hand. She wanted to explain about Angela, how she had murdered her. She wanted to tell him how she had used the killer's words in reference to him..._another for the count..._but the words would not come.

Booth just looked back at her with a smile. Gently, he laced his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. "It's over now, Bones. I'm fine. I'm not going to leave you."

Slowly, Temperance relaxed in his arms. When she was practically fully calmed, he reached up and pushed the hair off her forehead, looking into her eyes. "So...are you okay?"

She smiled and nodded slightly. "Yeah. I'm okay."

He studied her for a moment and then smiled back. "Okay."

They pulled back from one another with reluctance. Temperance glanced at the clock, and realizing that it was almost 11:30, looked back at Booth with puzzlement. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I got home and saw that you had left your cell phone in the car. I was just bringing it back over. I must have gotten to the door right when you were waking up. I heard you scream, so I broke in."

"You broke in?"

Booth shrugged. "You were screaming. It seemed like the right idea at the time."

Temperance had to smile. "Thanks, Booth."

Charm smile. "Hey, what are friends for?"

Temperance pushed herself up so that she was standing, and Booth copied the move. Her eyes darted about the room for a moment as she straightened her clothes.

Booth glanced at the clock. "Well, it's getting late."

Temperance glanced at him. "Yeah."

Booth looked at the woman standing in her pajamas in the bedroom. She looked so vulnerable, so delicate, so..._'beautiful,'_ his brain filled in. He wasn't used to seeing Temperance this way. She was normally so sure of herself, so self-confident that he had almost come to believe that she was really as strong as she appeared. Now that he was standing in her room, however, he saw her differently. She was just a person, just like everyone else. She needed people, too.

He suddenly wished that she would as him to stay. He realized that he didn't want to leave her alone, not after what had just happened. _'Ask me to stay,'_ his brain begged. _'Ask me not to leave you.'_

When she made no move to do so, he took matters into his own hands. "Would you mind if I crashed here tonight, Bones? I'm really tired...I don't know if I'm up for another drive home."

He thought he saw a brief note of relief flash in her eyes as she answered. "Yeah, sure."

With a smile, they set about gathering the blankets.

Reviews are lovely


	12. New Information

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter! I know its been a long time since I updated, and I'm still going with my usual excuse that I haven't had a day off work in quite a while. Sorry! I'd say that I'll try to do better, but we all know that that doesn't usually mean much. Okay, now, about this chapter, based on the reviews I've gotten so far, something that happens here is going to surprise a lot of people. That's a good thing. I hope everyone has a positive reaction. I'm trying to make this fic different from other ones by making the characters do new things. I hope everyone is enjoying it. Anyway, go ahead and read!

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After a brief inspection of Temperance's door, which had somehow managed to get through the ordeal with only superficial scratching and scuffing, Booth settled back onto the couch and eventually he fell asleep. Temperance returned to her bedroom, leaving the door open and mentally cursing herself for her desire to do so.

Booth slept fitfully and woke up often. Finally, at three am when he was awoken by a muffled sound from Temperance's room, he pushed himself off the couch and walked in to check on her. She was deeply asleep, her eyelids fluttering slightly with R.E.M., her face a strange mix of slack relaxation and tension. For a moment, he felt his chest tightening just as it had earlier. He hated this. He hated that he couldn't protect her from the horror that raged behind her eyelids and in her mind.

Sighing, he gingerly sat down on the edge of her bed, allowing himself the opportunity to study her. He didn't do this often, but somehow the intimacy of the situation, being in her bedroom, silent, as she slept, made him feel as though he was free to observe, perhaps even free to softly touch her hair, her cheek. _'At least if she's asleep she won't kick my ass for touching her,'_ he mentally chuckled at his own thoughts, but even as he did so, he knew it wasn't true. Temperance wouldn't attack him for caring about her. He knew that. He knew that while she usually kept people at a comfortable distance, she would allow him closer. She had let him glimpse past the wall.

Tonight had been a big step for them. It wasn't the first time she had allowed him to comfort her, but somehow it still felt different. Tonight was special. Although he had hated to see her so obviously fearful, he couldn't deny that he had also enjoyed the closeness it had afforded him. He liked having her in his arms, even if the reasons were less than ideal.

Yes, he was attracted to her. He knew that. He had always known that. Why wouldn't he be? She was beautiful, smart, and even funny, in her own way. And she made him feel strong. She made him feel as though he could do anything. He knew this was vain, a shallow reason for caring about her, but it was true. When she was near him, he felt certain that he could do anything. She made him feel important.

He wanted to make her feel the same way she made him feel. He wanted to let her know how important she was, how powerful she was. He wanted to show her what she was capable of; he wanted to remind her of her genius. He wanted to take her hand and show her off to the world. And, at the moment that he had this realization, Temperance shifted in her sleep and released a soft snort. Booth almost laughed out loud.

He turned and rested his legs on the bed, leaning back against one of her extra pillows on top of the blankets. The quiet of the room began to soothe him then. The soft hum of the fan in the corner began to lull him to sleep, coaxing the awareness from his mind. After a few moments of struggling, he fell asleep.

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Temperance woke up the next morning to find her head resting on something firm and warm. The thing was also slightly rising and falling. As her mind began to clear, she lifted her head and glanced at the object. _'Man,'_ her brain registered. Another glance gave further understanding. _'Booth.'_ She was confused for a moment, but the events of the night before came back to her. The dream. Booth breaking in. Comforting her. Staying the night.

She vaguely wondered what he was doing in her bed, but the thought slipped away as he began to stir.

Lazily opening his eyes, he glanced at her. "Bones?" he yawned. "Time?"

She glanced at the clock. "6:45." Her voice was heavy with sleep.

He stretched slightly, waking up more fully. "Hmm, I guess I need to get going. I'm supposed to pick Parker up at 9." He yawned again.

She nodded in response to him, falling back onto her pillow as he began to stand up.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing?" he asked as she gathered the covers under her chin.

"Going back to sleep," she mumbled with her eyes closed.

"Oh no you don't," he replied, grabbing the comforter and attempting to wrench it from her grasp. "If I have to get up, so do you."

"No I don't. It's Saturday. It's my day off. And it's my house. I can sleep if I want to."

"But…that's not fair," he argued lamely.

She opened one eye. "How is that not fair?"

"Because I have to get up."

"So?"

"So…so if I have to be awake and tired, you should have to be awake and tired, too."

"That's the most illogical thing I've ever heard," she answered, rolling over and gathering the blankets tighter.

"Bones…" he whined, tugging the sheets again.

"See you later, Booth. Thanks for coming over. Have fun with Parker."

"Bones!"

"Hmm?" she said through a yawn.

"Get up!"

"No."

"Get up!"

"No."

"It's not a question, it's…an order!"

"It's not happening."

"Bones!"

Turning over so she could face him, she smiled. "Argue all you want. In the end, you still have somewhere to be, and I still get to go back to sleep." And with that, she climbed out of bed. They then walked into the living room and, after gathering Booth's few things, she walked him to the door.

"Thanks again for coming by," Temperance said, her voice slightly quieter than usual. "I appreciate it."

He gave her a lazy grin. "My pleasure, ma'am." His fake Southern accent was laughable. He stepped forward slightly and gave her a friendly hug, and then was out the door. "Talk to you later!" he said over his shoulder as he retreated.

She smiled. "Talk to you later."

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Temperance headed back to bed after Booth left, but after an hour and a half of dozing she gave up on getting any more real sleep. She stretched out in her bed, trying to remember the last Saturday when she had just relaxed. Rolling over through the blankets, she sluggishly climbed out of bed.

She cracked her window open slightly before heading to the bathroom. The day was crisp and cool, the last remaining fragments of summer more or less evaporated. The trees had begun to turn. A soft breeze whispered across her fingers and she smiled, pushing the window more fully open. The day was bright and clear, and she stuck her head out slightly, swallowing a large gulp of air. She closed her eyes as the coolness stroked her skin. She loved days like today, when death seemed like a nonexistent thing so very far away.

She walked to the bathroom where she took a quick shower and brushed her teeth. She surveyed her make-up for a moment and thought through her clothing options. _'To hell with it,'_ she said to herself. And with that she grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt.

She brushed her hair out straight, deciding she would just let it air dry, and grabbed a pair of socks. She noted that she really needed to invest in a new pair of running shoes as she jammed her feet into them, and after grabbing an old college sweatshirt she stuck her keys in her pocket and walked out the door.

She walked down the street a few blocks to find a copy of the morning paper and after purchasing a copy, she headed back to her apartment. She kicked off her shoes when she got in the door and settled down at her table. She brewed a pot of coffee, poured a bowl of cereal, and spread the black and white pages out in front of her.

The news was really always the same, she realized as she read. Gas prices were going up. Some inner city kid shot another inner city kid. The Middle East was a mess.

After finishing the paper, Temperance cleaned up her breakfast and stuck the dishes in the sink. She would wash them later, she decided, and after gathering the newspaper back into a semi-neat pile, she reached for her files on the case.

She left the window open as she worked, and although the occasional breeze ruffled her papers, she opted not to close it. She liked the air. It was as though the clear freshness of it cleared her mind; she felt as though she were making actual progress on the case.

Temperance worked for hours, barely noticing how much time was passing. In the course of her day, she learned that in the book _The Darkness Beneath,_ the person found in the grave had been murdered with an icicle. She referred to her notes on the body. This was a definite possibility, she noted. She wrote a note to herself, reminding her to check this out more fully on Monday when she had access to the bones.

This discovery was not an isolated incident. The second discovery came when Temperance was flipping through another Ophelia Stone book which she had picked up in the book store. It was titled _A Time to Plant_. The discovery that caught Temperance's attention in this instance was the fact that in the book a victim was found in the woods. In a fetal position.

By the time 6:30 rolled around, Temperance had managed to find quite a few linking factors between the murders and Ophelia's books. One this was for sure—this was becoming too much of a coincidence. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the killer, whoever he or she may be, was using Ophelia's books as a sort of guide.

Although she had spent some time working, Temperance made no progress on the notes sent to her and Booth by the killer. There was no mention of notes in the books, which left Temperance feeling more than a little confused. It was one of the few pieces that seemed totally out of place.

She was completely engrossed in her own thoughts when she heard a knock at her door. Rising to open it, she found Angela standing on the other side.

"Hey, Ange, I almost forgot you were coming."

"Well, gee, don't I feel welcome," Angela replied. Although the comment had been made in jest, there was a slight edge to it that made Temperance step back.

Angela's arms were full of pizza, soda, and chips. Temperance helped to gather the things as she allowed Angela in.

"Thanks for bringing all this."

"Sure," Angela said, the edge gone. "And I also brought us a movie. I don't know if you want to watch it or not, but I figured I'd take the chance." Temperance looked at the title on the DVD case. _The Object of My Affection._ It wasn't a movie Temperance had seen.

"Great, thanks," Temperance answered as she glanced at the label on the soda Angela had just handed her. "Caffeine free, diet? What's the point?"

Angela laughed slightly in response. After clearing a place at the table and spreading everything out, Angela walked over to the DVD player and slid the disk in.

"So, are you feeling any better?" Temperance asked, her voice slightly tentative.

Angela sighed. "I'm not sick." Her voice had no edge to it, but Temperance saw the line of her back become slightly more rigid as she squatted in front of the TV adjusting the volume on the movie.

"It's okay to be sick, Ange."

Angela shook her head. "No, you don't understand. I'm _not_ sick. Honestly. I'm not." Angela rose and walked back toward Temperance, who was sitting on the couch with a piece of pizza and a soda.

Temperance glanced at her. "Ookay…then why do you seem sick?"

Angela sighed. "It's…nevermind. Do you feel like watching the movie?"

Temperance shrugged. "Sure, sorry I brought it up," she mumbled. Angela didn't reply, chosing instead to grab her own piece of pizza and drop down onto the couch beside Temperance.

The movie was about a young woman who was dating a man she wasn't all that crazy about while living with her gay best friend. Then, when she finds out that she is pregnant part way through the movie, her life becomes even more confusing when she decides that she wants her best friend to help her raise the child instead of the baby's father.

Temperance watched the movie for a while, but eventually found that she had grown bored and that her thoughts were being increasingly drawn back to the case. She looked over at Angela, who seemed to be watching the movie intently, and then pushed herself up off the couch to go back to working with her notes.

When the movie ended, Angela clicked it off and then sat for a moment more on the couch, not saying anything. Temperance gave her a sideways glance. "As good as you'd hoped?"

Angela shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, as long as your excited about it..." Temperance said, the sarcasim evident in her voice.

"It was just a movie, what do you want me to say?" Angela snapped.

Temperance was more than a little taken aback. "Whoa, calm down, Ange, I was just kidding."

Angela gave no response.

"What is with you tonight?" Temperance asked, growing exaspirated.

Angela took a deep breath. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired, that's all." She looked at Temperance as she said it, but when the anthropologist just looked at her in response, she gave a slight smile. "Just some stuff on my mind."

Temperance nodded. "Okay, I can understand that."

Angela nodded. "Sooo..." her eyes scanned the room, looking for a point of conversation. "What happened to your door, by the way?"

Temperance, who had not been prepared for the question, did her best to keep her tone neutral. "Hmm? Oh, that...it was nothing. Booth."

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Booth? What did you do to him that made him attack your door?"

Temperance shrugged. "It wasn't really a big deal."

Angela nodded, much to Temperance's surprise, seeming to accept this response. "So what's going on with you and Booth, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

Angela shrugged. "Are you more than friends yet?" The question was asked so calmly that for a moment Temperance didn't know how to respond.

"No. We're friends. Good friends, but still just friends."

"What would happen if you became more than friends?"

"What do you mean 'what would happen'?"

"I mean if suddenly it was something...different than friendship. How do you think you guys would handle that?"

"Ummm..." Temperance found herself feeling confused. The line of questioning was unlike Angela. Normally, Angela was the one who was encouraging Temperance to change her relationship with Booth, to make it something else. "What's going on, Ange?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

Temperance turned and gave Angela her full attention. The artist seemed nervous. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Angela said, trying to be reassuring. "It's just…"

"What?" Temperance prompted.

Angela exhaled a heavy sigh and leaned her face into her hands. "It's just….everything's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Angela exhaled heavily again, and when she spoke her voice was little more than a whisper. "I thought I was just imagining things, you know? I figured I'd caught Zach's cold or something. I tried to ignore the fact that I didn't have the symptoms of a cold…I thought it would go away. I mean, it couldn't be what I thought it was, you know? There were always answers, but the longer it went on, the harder it was to believe those answers, and…I don't know. And I know that it's my fault, you know? Please don't think I'm a terrible person, it's just...I don't know what to do. God, Tempe, what am I going to do?"

"Angela…you're babbling. And honestly you're starting to scare me. Why don't you just tell me what's going on?"

Angela sighed again. "Oh, God, Tempe…" her voice trailed off and after a pause, as if preparing herself for her statement, she spoke again. "I think I'm pregnant."

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Thoughts? Questions? Threats? Whatever you have to say, just hit the button and let me know


	13. Friends and their Kids

Author's Note: Okay, so I'm a horrible updater. Alright? Happy now? Just kidding. Seriously though, I'm sorry its taken me so long to post this chapter. Life is crazy right now, but I'll try to do better (you can roll your eyes here). Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter, as always you guys are great and I appreciate it when you take the time to let me know what you're thinking. Okay, I don't think there's anything special I have to tell you about this chapter, hopefully you haven't forgotten what's happened so far...oh, and as a side note, I am going to try to move the case along. I got caught up in what were supposed to be my subplots and now I'm realizing that we're in chapter thirteen with a ways to go...sorry about that. :-) Leave me some hate mail if makes you feel better. :-) Okay, read now.

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Temperance was frozen in place, staring at her best friend. "When you say 'pregnant'…"

"I mean 'pregnant'. Lamaze class. Decorating in blue and pink. Stretch marks. No dates for eighteen years. _Pregnant_." Angela rubbed her hands over her face.

Temperance nodded mutely to Angela's words, her brain reeling from the news. "Oh."

Angela exhaled a heavy sigh. "Yeah."

"Who…?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'm sure it will to him."

Angela sighed again.

"So I guess that means that he doesn't know yet?"

"No."

"When are you planning on telling him?"

Angela shrugged, her eyes fixed on the floor. "I don't know," she mumbled.

Temperance shook her head. "This isn't something that's just going to go away, Ange. Whoever he is, you need to tell him."

"I know." Her voice was soft.

There was a beat of silence before Temperance spoke again. "How long have you known?"

Angela shrugged. "Technically only since this afternoon. I've suspected it for a while, but I only took the test today."

"So, when you kept saying that you weren't sick…"

"Yeah."

"Ah."

The gravity of the situation settled over them like a heavy summer storm cloud. "What am I going to do, Tempe?" Angela's voice was weak, almost pleading. It was a tone Temperance wasn't used to.

"It's going to be okay, Ange. It's a baby, not a disease."

Angela pushed herself off the couch, nervously pacing around the room. "Exactly! A disease I could deal with. You get medicine, you stay in bed, and it eventually goes away, but this…this is a _person_! I have a whole other person in me! A person who is completely helpless and who is going to expect _me_ to take care of them! I don't know how to take care of a baby! I mean, how am I going to handle this financially? I have to work, but if I have a kid how am I going to raise it and have a job too? What about relationships? I can't just date anymore, oh no, because now I have someone else's feelings to be sensitive to! Not to mention the fact that most guys are going to run screaming for the hills when they hear that I have a kid! What do I do when it starts crying? How am I going to know what it needs? What about when it starts school? How am I going to pay for it to go to college? How am I going to…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down!" Temperance said, raising her hands in the air. "College? I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself here. As far as the financial question goes, a lot of children are raised in single parent homes. It can be done. Not to mention the fact that you have friends who are going to help you. Also, you're going to be an amazing mother! Sure, right now it's scary, but when the baby is here you'll figure out how to take care of it." Temperance rested her hands on Angela's upper arms, forcing her to stand still. "You don't have to do this alone, Ange. We're going to be here for you."

Angela's eyes became glassy with tears. She inhaled a shaky breath and then whispered, "I'm scared."

"It's okay to be scared."

Angela gave an almost imperceptible nod in response.

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Angela ended up spending the night at Temperance's that night, and the two stayed up late talking. Although the topic at the forefront of their minds was Angela's pregnancy, they talked about anything and everything else. At about 3:30am, both women finally fell asleep.

_Temperance was jogging through the Jeffersonian. Although she recognized the hallways and corridors, they all seemed impossibly long, as if they had been stretched. Although Temperance could feel her feet striking the floor, it seemed as though she was making no progress._

_Eventually, she managed to get to her office. When she came to the door, she realized that she didn't remember why she had been running to get here. She was short of breath as she pushed open the door._

_When she looked into her office, she froze. Slumped in her desk chair was Zach, his eyes wide open but lifeless, seeing nothing. Upon seeing his dead body, Temperance began to shriek, recoiling from the room. She slammed the door and began to run again, this time running towards the examination rooms. The Jeffersonian was dark and for a moment she felt afraid that she would lose her way._

_She managed to arrive at the examination rooms and entered to find the tables already lit with bodies laid out on top of them. She approached with caution, the image of Zach now just a distant thought in her mind. When she reached the first table, she froze again. Laid out before her was Hodgins, his body lifeless, a rope tightly wound around his throat._

_She looked at the next table, which seemed wider than usual, and on this she saw Angela, her arms and legs splayed at unnatural angles, blood seeping from some unseen wound. Beside her lay the miniature form of a baby, also lifeless and unmoving._

_Temperance wanted to scream, but she found that she had no voice. She wanted to run, but felt as though she didn't have the energy. Instead she began slowly stepping back, willing her eyes to stop staring at the corpses._

"_It's a shame, isn't it?"_

_Temperance turned her head sharply to find Booth walking toward her._

_She nodded. "What happened?"_

_Booth cocked his head, looking at her. "What had to happen. What you had to do."_

_Temperance just stared at him._

"_Hatred." He spoke the word as if it explained something. He reached out then and stroked her hair. When his hand trailed over her cheek, she felt it, cold and dead. His eyes remained focused on hers, not blinking. Without a word, he pulled out a gun and handed it to her. She felt its weight in her hand, and she stared at him questioningly._

"_It's easier to love a memory. The dead don't surprise you." He smiled then, a strange, wicked smile that did not look like Booth at all. She saw then the white pallor of his skin, the loss of color in his usually vibrant eyes. "But now that you've killed us all, who will love you back?" He turned his back to walk away from her, and she saw the gunshot wound in his back. And in that second, it flooded back to her. She had killed them all. She had murdered them one by one._

"_Booth!" she yelled. When he turned back to look at her, she leveled the gun at his face. "Save me." And with that she pulled the trigger and watched as the metal bullet rocketed toward him…_

"NOOO!" Temperance screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed. She was breathing heavily and bathed in a cold sweat.

"What, what?" Angela exclaimed, roused suddenly from her slumber. Confused and frightened by Temperance's outburst, she struggled to wake up in the early dawn light. "What happened? What's going on? What's wrong?"

Temperance's breath was ragged as she looked at Angela, her brain frantically unscrambling her dream from reality. Angela was here. She was fine. She wasn't at the Jeffersonian. A dream. Just a dream.

Angela gazed into Temperance's frozen expression. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Temperance sucked in a deep breath of air. "Nothing," she answered, willing her heart to slow. "Just…just a dream."

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Angela left around 10:30 the next morning and Temperance spent some time straightening up her house and paying a few stray bills. She tried to ignore the nagging realization in her mind that the case seemed to be getting to her. The case _couldn't_ be getting to her. She had a job to do. Shaking her head to dispel the graphic images, she continued on with her day, desperately trying to forget the pictures her mind had generated.

At about 2:00 that afternoon, there was a knock on Temperance's door. She put down the book that she had been reading and crossed over to answer it. When she pulled it open, she was greeted by the sight of Booth and Parker, dressed in blue jeans, tee shirts, and baseball caps.

"HI!" Parker exclaimed loudly.

Mildly surprised by their presence, Temperance glanced down and addressed the young boy. "Hello, Parker, how are you?"

"I'm thirsty. Can I have a drink?"

"Parker…" Booth's voice warned.

"Can I _please_ have a drink thank you?"

Booth sighed, and Temperance had to smile. "Of course you can. Come in and I'll get you something."

She stepped aside so the two men could enter the apartment, Parker bursting through the doorway with unbridled energy and Booth stepping in at a more normal pace, his eyes fixed on his son.

"Parker, calm down," he said to the young boy who was happily pulling on his leg.

"C'mon, I'm _thirsty_!" the boy insisted.

Booth gave Temperance a lazy grin. "Sorry. Do you mind if I grab him some water?"

Temperance laughed slightly. "Sure, help yourself."

The three made their way to the kitchen where Temperance grabbed a glass and a bottle of water for Parker. Satisfied with the drink, he settled into a seat at the table.

"Sorry," Booth said again, keeping one eye on the boy.

"No problem," Temperance answered. "How goes the male bonding?"

"I fed a duck!" Parker announced.

Booth smiled. "Catch didn't seem to hold his interest as long as I thought it would."

"So now he's decided to be a veterinarian?"

"There was an old lady in the park. She smelled bad."

"Or maybe he could get a job in public relations," Booth quipped.

"So what brings you guys up here?" Temperance asked, looking at Booth.

"Oh, you know, just thought we'd come by to say hi…"

"Daddy wanted to check on you."

Temperance looked at Booth in surprise. "What?"

"Well, not really to check on you, but just to see how you were doing…"

"Daddy said he wanted to know if you slept. He said sometimes you don't sleep. Sometimes Daddy doesn't sleep but he says it's 'cause he's working. Do you work when your 'sposed to be sleeping?"

"Parker, please drink your water and sit quietly!" Booth said.

Temperance gave him a quizzical glance. "You came to see if I slept well?"

"No, no, I just want to see if you…um, you know…slept well."

"Oh, okay, I see the distinction there." Temperance gave Booth a mildly amused look.

Booth gave her a lopsided smile. "Any new ideas on the case?"

"A few. Not much I can do until I get to the lab tomorrow, though."

He nodded. "I'm going to call Ophelia tomorrow and set up a formal interview. You should probably come with me."

Temperance nodded. "Sure. Just let me know when."

The chatted some more while Parker finished his drink, and when he was done, Booth took the glass and placed it in the sink. He glanced at the container of soda on the counter as he walked past. "Geez, caffeine free and diet? What's the point?"

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The rest of the evening passed without much excitement after Booth left. Despite her nightmares from the previous two nights, Temperance was tired enough that she fell asleep quickly and rested dreamlessly. In the morning, she showered, ate a quick breakfast, and headed back to work.

The Jeffersonian was its usual buzz of Monday morning activity. People darted in all directions, looking for this person or that person, investigating this or that. Temperance pulled on her lab coat first thing and began re-examining the bones from her case.

She examined the markings on her first set of remains and noted that the grooves and ridges could have definitely been caused by repeated blows with an icicle. It seemed that Ophelia's books were fairly accurate in connection with these crimes.

Temperance worked for most of the morning, and when she arrived back at her office she found that she had two messages from Booth. The first told her that he had arranged a meeting with her for later in that afternoon and that, since he had her car, he would pick her up. The second told her that he had been looking into what she may have possibly been doing during her long absence in writing and so far he had found that the records were protected. It seemed that Ms. Stone had spent some time in a mental care facility. Temperance checked her watch. Booth would be arriving for her soon, so she quickly stuck her head in Angela's office to check on her. Booth arrived right on time a few minutes later, and the two sped off for another meeting with the great Ophelia Stone.

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Reviews are great if you're so inclined


	14. The Interview

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter! Normally, this is the part of the author's note where I apologize that its taken me so long to update and I promise to do better, but come on, we all know better than that. As it happens, the coming week is looking like an absolute nightmare for me between school, internship, work, and my LSATs on Saturday...augh! Anyway, not that you care about any of that, but the point is it could be a while before the next chapter is up. I promise I'll try to work fast, though. I think I've got the ending pretty much worked out, and so I'm going to try to move things along a bit. As far as this chapter goes, I hope you like it, and as always if there is something that you think doesn't work or if you have an idea of something that should happen, just let me know. Okay, go ahead and read.

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"Do we have to treat her like a suspect?"

"It's just normal protocol, Bones. She's our main lead. Whenever we catch this guy and bring him to trial, we're going to need her testimony. If we don't follow proper procedure, this interview can be deemed inadmissible." Booth walked around his desk quickly, grabbing a notebook and pen.

"Agent Booth?" a voice said from the hallway. Booth looked up. "Ms. Stone is ready in interview room two." Booth nodded and he and Temperance made their way down the hall.

Booth entered the room through the heavy metal grey door, smiling at Ophelia as he entered. He laid his notebook on the table as Temperance seated herself in a chair where she could watch the interview on a screen.

"Ms. Stone, you've been informed of your rights?" Booth asked, his manner cool and professional.

"Yes, I have."

"And you understand that although you have not been named a suspect, you still have the right to an attorney?"

"Yes."

"And you wish to waive that right at this time?"

"I do."

Booth nodded, opening his notebook. He then cleared his throat and continued. "How long have you been an author?"

"I've written all my life. I was first published in grade school."

"And you decided at that point to make it your career?"

"No, at that point I didn't really know what I wanted to do. I was first paid for some pieces I wrote when I was just out of high school. It was easy money, and I liked writing, so I wrote in my free time and eventually I had a book. It got published and I became a writer. I guess it was never really a conscious choice, just something that happened."

Booth smiled and nodded. "And, to date, how many books have you published?"

Ophelia hesitated, adding in her head. "Um, eight, I think? No—nine. I've published nine. I also have one that I'm working on."

"So of the ten books that you've either published or are working on, how many are mysteries?"

"Eight. My first two books were novels."

Booth glanced back at this notes, noting that her statements confirmed what he had found earlier. "Did you attend college?" Booth's tone was easy now, speaking as if they were just friends having a conversation. Temperance recognized this as a means of making the interviewee feel more comfortable.

"I went for two semesters and then dropped out."

"Where did you attend?"

"A community college," she said dismissively.

"Why did you drop out?"

Ophelia hesitated, and her eyes left Booth's. "Personal reasons," she said, after a pause.

Booth nodded and made a small note on his pad. "Were you raised in the D.C. area?"

Temperance saw Ophelia stiffen, and she remembered how the woman had reacted when they were at lunch together. "No," Ophelia answered, her tone cold.

Booth's eyes flicked up to meet hers. "Where were you raised?"

"New York."

"City?"

"Yes." Ophelia's tone had lost its friendly quality.

Booth noticed the shift in mood, and mental making a note of it, he switched gears. "What year did you publish the book _The Darkness Beneath_?"

Ophelia thought for a moment, then answered. "I published it about five years ago. It came out in the summer."

"How old were you when you published your first book?"

"25."

"And your second?"

"28."

"And your third?" He asked, making his tone sound almost bored, as if these were questions he simply had to ask.

"33."

Booth glanced up. "Why wait so long between the second and the third?"

Ophelia sat uncomfortably stiff. "Personal reasons. Things were going on and I didn't have much time to write."

Booth nodded. "What kinds of things were going on?" He was crossing a line and he knew it, but he decided to risk it anyway.

"I was ill."

"With?"

"I'd prefer not to say."

"Of course," Booth said. "So you have a five year gap between books two and three. You also said that your first two books were novels and your third was a mystery. Why the genre shift?"

"Just an idea I came up with. It turned out that my mystery stories were more popular than my fictions, so I kept writing them."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Booth nodded. "How do you get the inspiration for your books?"

"I don't know. I get it everywhere. Everything and everyone has a story. Once you realize that, once you see that a single interaction with a stranger can alter the course of your entire life, you find ideas for books everywhere."

Booth smiled, looking in her eyes. She was passionate about this, her writing, and it struck him again how very much she reminded him of Temperance. "Do your books have a large fan base?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Probably not. I've been deemed a bit esoteric, I'm afraid. A bit more obscure. I do get some fan mail, though, so I guess I have some fans out there."

"I've actually read one of your books. It was good."

"Thank you."

"Do you have any family living in the area?"

"No." Her tone was clipped again.

"Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Do you have any children?"

Ophelia hesitated.

After a moment, Booth leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Ms. Stone?"

"Yes, one. I have a daughter."

Booth, intrigued by this information, did his best to keep his tone smooth. "And where is she living?"

"I don't know," she almost whispered. "She's grown now."

"You don't keep in contact?"

"Due to my…illness…she was taken from me when she was young and placed in the foster care system. I tried to find out what happened to her, but they made it hard. She grew up without me."

"I'm very sorry," Booth said, and he meant it.

Ophelia just nodded. Booth cleared his throat again. "How long have you live in the D.C area?"

"About 10 years."

Booth nodded, made another note, and turned the page in his notebook. When the new white sheet lay ready before him, he looked up at Ophelia. When he saw startled him. Her eyes were wide, as if she were in pain, and she was looking intently at his notebook.

"Ms. Stone…?"

"Could you…could you please close your notebook?"

Booth looked at her strangely as her face remained fixed, contorted in pain. She raised a shaky hand and placed it on her forehead, slowly lowering her eyes closed.

Booth carefully lifted the cover and closed the notebook, all the while studying Ophelia. From her seat in front of the screen, Temperance watched with equal interest.

When the notebook was closed, Ophelia opened her eyes and exhaled a deep breath. "Thank you." When she looked at Booth's quizzical gaze, she sighed and said, "I'm sorry. I have a…problem with blank paper." Her eyes began to dart around the room.

"Doesn't that make it difficult for you to be a writer?"

Her eyes were still roaming, not taking the time to settle on any one surface. "Are we done, Agent Booth?"

"Um, yeah, I guess we're done for today. You understand that I may need to speak with again as the case progresses."

"Yes, yes, whatever you need," Ophelia said quickly.

With a nod Ophelia stood and Booth opened the door and allowed her to exit the room. She was down the hall quickly, and soon she had left.

Booth walked to where Temperance had been watching and gave her a look. "What do you think that was about?"

* * *

After finishing with Ophelia, Booth and Temperance headed back to Booth's office.

"So," Booth said as he closed the door behind them, "what do you think?"

"Interesting that she has a daughter."

Booth nodded. "I'll run a search through the system. I doubt we'll get a whole lot, though, records for children in the foster care system can be tough to navigate, especially if the child was eventually adopted."

Temperance nodded. "I wonder why she was placed in foster care?" Booth glanced up and

Temperance shrugged. "Where's the father? Other family members?"

"Well, Bones, you know she really doesn't seem that connected to her family, if she even has any."

"When we had lunch the other day she mentioned that her family was in Chicago, or at least she thought they were."

Booth nodded, scribbling a note. "We'll see what we can find. What about fans?"

"What about them?"

"Well, she writes mysteries. Maybe some crazy fan is behind all this because they wanted to make it real."

Temperance nodded her agreement. "That could be worth checking out. I can call her and ask if she'll let us look through some fan mail if you want."

"Couldn't hurt. Besides, it seems she responds better to you than she does to me."

"Maybe while I'm at it I can ask about her reaction to your notebook."

"Now that's definitely something I'd like to have an explanation for."

At that moment, Booth's phone cut into their conversation with a loud and instant ring.

"Booth. Yes…uh huh…oh, great! Yeah, I'll be there. 15 minutes? Great. Yeah. Thanks, Jimmy…right." Booth hung up the phone and gave Temperance a 100 watt grin. "We are going to go celebrate. C'mon, grab your stuff, I'm taking you out to dinner."

Temperance quirked an eyebrow at him. "What are we celebrating?"

"My car's finally fixed! C'mon, we'll go pick it up and then we'll get some food to celebrate the wonder of the internal combustion engine." Booth and Temperance gathered their things and headed for Temperance's car.

Somewhere in the journey between Booth's office and the car, Temperance became aware of the fact that Booth was walking at her side with his hand resting comfortably on her lower back. He was also stepping slightly ahead of her occasionally so that he could hold open doors for her.

His actions did not alarm Temperance nearly as much as her own failure to notice them sooner. How had she become so accustomed to him? And yet, even as she marveled at her own failure to notice what was going on, she realized that she felt no desire to tell him to stop. Normally a man touching her this way and holding doors for her felt patronizing. Why was it different just because Booth was the one who was touching her?

For a brief second she felt her brain lapse into a scientific explanation for what was happening. Booth was her partner; he had saved her life before, so naturally she felt comfortable with him. She knew she was safe. Perhaps she was alright with him being this close to her because she trusted him at a primal level. And yet, even as her brain ran through evolutionary and scientific reasons, she felt the desire to just let it go, to just let it be. She refused to acknowledge the fact that where Booth was concerned she was defining things less and less.

Booth picked up his SUV, after which, as promised, he and Tempe went to dinner. They talked easily, laughed often, and almost forgot the horrors of the case which they were working on. Life seemed lighter, if only for a little while, and it was a break that both Temperance and Booth were immensely grateful for. When the meal had finally ended and they were starting to draw menacing looks from the wait staff for sitting at the table for two hours, Temperance and Booth got up to leave. They headed back to the parking lot, pulling out their keys for their respective cars.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Booth said. "I'll run those checks we talked about and call you if anything comes up."

Temperance nodded. "And I'll call Ophelia. Hopefully we'll get some answers soon."

Booth gave her a lazy grin. "Are you kidding? With the two of us on the case it's just amazing that we haven't got it all wrapped up already."

Temperance laughed slightly, and Booth continued to smile. Stepping forward slightly, he pulled Temperance into an easy hug. He stepped back slightly and the two stopped laughing when he looked her in the eyes. His voice was quieter and decidedly more serious when he spoke. "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she ordered her heart to calm down. "Yeah, I'm going to be fine. I'm going to Angela's for a while, actually."

Booth looked at her a moment longer and then nodded as if he had seen something that satisfied him. "Okay. Call me if you need anything." And with that he leaned down and gave Temperance a quick peck on the cheek. Never breaking his casual stride, he released her and turned back to his SUV. "Cya later, Bones!" he called as he climbed into his vehicle.

Temperance, a bit stunned, waved back. "Yeah, see ya." She climbed into her own car and fastened her seatbelt, watching Booth back away in her peripheral vision. She put her own car in gear then and started to head toward Angela's. Her mind was not on the road, however. Instead her brain was insistently screaming, _'did he just kiss me?'_

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If the mood strikes you, I'd love to hear what you think


	15. Revelations

Disclaimer: Since I haven't had one in a while, I thought I'd update you. I own nothing. I don't even own the computer I'm typing this on

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews and for being so patient with me! As promised, this took forever to post. :-) Thanks for waiting on me. I hope you like this one--I realize that there is a lot I still want to do with this fic, and I'm going to try to move it along because I have an idea for a new one in my head and I don't want to work on two at the same time, lol. Oh, and some info is revealed in this chapter...there is at least one person who, when they read it, is probably going to be dissappointed, but I just want to let you know that I think I'm saving what we talked about for another fic ;-) Thanks for reading! And now, at long last, enjoy :-)

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Booth sped down the highway at about fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit. Rock music blared angrily through the speakers as he rode. He hit his steering wheel with a frustrated _thump_ of his left hand. _'What were you thinking, man? You just tried to kiss your work partner in a parking lot.'_ Shaking his head in disgust with himself, he hit his blinker signaling a lane change.

'_It's not a big deal,'_ a second part of his brain rationed. _'It's not like you started making out with her. It was a kiss on the cheek. Nothing exciting, just a quick peck. Friends do that all the time.'_

He shook his head as the first part of his brain jumped back in. _'C'mon, man, face facts. It's Bones. It's a big deal.'_

'_You only kissed her because you were happy about having your car back. Hell, you didn't even technically kiss her. Well, I mean, you kissed her, but she didn't kiss you back so it's not like it was a _kiss_ kiss.'_

'_Right. You kissed her because you were happy that your car was fixed. That's the dumbest excuse in the world. That's not why it happened and you know it.'_

'_Okay, so maybe it's just because you were worried about her. She hasn't been sleeping well. It was just a friendly good night thing.'_

'_And you think that kissing her will make her sleep better? What, you think your lips are made of Tylenol PM?'_

'_It was just a good night thing between friends.'_

'_When was the last time you kissed one of your friends?'_

'_Shut up.'_

'_Face it, man. You kissed her because you wanted to.'_

'_It wasn't like that…'_

'_But you wanted it to be. You wanted to kiss her for real, didn't you?'_

'_God, what could she be thinking right now? How should I act when I see her tomorrow? Pretend it never happened? Yeah…pretend it never happened, because actually, that's the truth. Nothing happened. It was nothing. Not even worth remembering.'_

'_Man…you're screwed.'

* * *

_

Temperance's mind was still running over the last few minutes of her interaction with Booth when she pulled up at Angela's. Climbing out of her car and tossing her keys into her bag, she did a last minute rationalization as she walked up to the door. _'It was nothing,'_ she said. _'Just an innocent, friendly exchange. Friends kiss one another all the time. It just shows that you care about each other and that you are comfortable with one another. In some societies kisses are used as greetings. There was nothing strange about it.'_ And, with that, she gave herself a quick nod and knocked on Angela's door.

"Hey, Sweetie," Angela said, pulling the door opened so that Temperance could enter.

Temperance walked in and dropped her bag onto the couch. "Hey, Ange, how are you feeling?"

Angela gave her a weary smile. "Tired. I don't know why, I actually fell asleep for like an hour a little while ago, but I just can't seem to wake up."

"That's normal. There's a lot going on in your body right now, Ange. You have to expect that it's going to wear you out somewhat."

"I know, I know," Angela said, nodding dismissively. "It's just kind of a pain, that's all." Temperance nodded and Angela dropped onto the couch.

"Do you want me to get you something to drink?" Temperance offered.

Angela gave her a sideways smile. "It's my house, shouldn't I be offering that to you?" The women shared a brief laugh. "But yeah, I'd love some tea."

Temperance nodded, pulling off her jacket and heading for the kitchen. "Where are the tea bags?" She asked over her shoulder.

"In the cabinet over the stove," Angela answer, padding along behind her.

Temperance busied herself with the tea kettle as Angela gathered mugs and spoons. "So, how was your day?" Temperance asked.

Angela walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. "It was okay. I made some progress on one of your faces, I should be able to finish it tomorrow."

Temperance nodded as the water started to boil. "Great, thanks." She poured the water over their teabags.

"Green tea?" Angela asked, accepting her cup. "I was kind of thinking you'd make us some Earl Grey."

"Caffeine, Ange. Green tea is better for you."

"We sound like an old married couple."

Temperance and Angela paused after this statement, and then started laughing, taking their cups back into the living room.

Once they had made themselves comfortable on the couch, Angela spoke. "Okay, so are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Why you've been half smiling ever since you got here. What's up?"

"I have not been half smiling," Temperance defended.

"Yes you have. Where were you?"

"Nowhere. Nothing."

"Convincing. Who were you with?"

"No one."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You were with Booth!" Angela squealed.

Shocked, Temperance just stared at her. "Where did you get that?"

"Oh my God! He kissed you!"

Truly shocked and amazed now, Temperance's eyes grew wider. "What is this, some kind of pregnancy ESP?"

Angela was grinning with childish delight. "I knew it! I knew it! Okay, tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened. We had the interview with Ophelia, then the garage called to tell him his car was fixed so we picked it up and grabbed some dinner."

"Who paid?"

"I don't see how that's relevant." Angela grinned and Temperance's attempt at hiding the truth. Seeing this, Temperance sighed. "Okay, so he paid, but it was just because he was thanking me for letting him use my car."

"So, when did he kiss you?"

"When we were done we went outside to get in our cars, talked for a few minutes, and he kissed me on the check when he left. It wasn't a big deal."

Angela smiled. "Aw, that's so sweet!"

Temperance groaned. "It was just a friendship thing, Ange! It didn't mean anything."

"Sure. I bet you were telling yourself that the whole way over here."

"Can we drop this?"

"You should tell him how you feel, Tempe."

"Speaking of telling people things…"

Angela shot her a warning glance. "We're talking about you here."

"I know we are, but we should be talking about _you_. Have you told the father yet?"

Angela sighed. "No," she mumbled.

"Don't you think you should?"

"It's not that easy, Tempe."

"I never said it was easy. But he deserves to know. It's his baby, too."

"Somehow he doesn't strike me as the type of guy whose going to be excited about the idea."

"What kind of guy does he strike you as?"

Angela was distracted when she answered, "the type of guy whose going to think this whole pregnancy is just some kind of conspiracy to take away his freedom."

Upon registering what she had said, both Temperance and Angela momentarily froze.

"Ange…"

Angela didn't say anything.

"When you say 'conspiracy', do you mean…?"

Angela still didn't speak.

"Oh my God. _Hodgins?_"

"Shit."

"You slept with _Hodgins?_ You're having a baby with _Hodgins?_"

"Do you want some more tea? I want some more tea," Angela said, quickly standing up from the couch and moving into the kitchen.

Temperance followed her at her heels. "No, no, no, you need to talk to me here. Since when are you involved with Hodgins?"

Angela sighed, dumping the still warm remains of her tea down the drain. "We weren't. I mean, we aren't."

"Um, you're pregnant with his baby, so I'm thinking you're at least a little involved with him…"

"No, I mean…no, we aren't involved. It wasn't like a relationship thing…"

"Then what was it?"

Angela sighed again. "It was…a momentary lapse of judgment. An alcohol induced momentary lapse of judgment."

"When?"

"About six weeks ago; a couple of weeks after I broke up with Ryan. I went to this bar and I saw him there with another girl and, I don't know, I guess it just kind of depressed me. It's not that I wanted him back or anything, but…I broke up with him, you know? _I _should have been the one who was there with somebody. Anyway, after I had been there for a little while, Hodgins showed up. He was alone, so he came and sat with me, we had some drinks, and then…"

"Hodgins just happened to show up by himself at the same bar?"

Angela hesitated for a second. "Well…I might have called him." The side of Temperance's mouth tilted in a slight smile, and Angela rushed on. "It was just because I didn't want Ryan to think that I was pathetic and alone, and it's not like I planned for _this_ to happen!"

"Okay."

"I'm serious, Tempe, I didn't call him because I wanted anything to happen. It was just to save face!"

"I'm not arguing with you." Angela sighed, and Temperance continued carefully. "I just think that it's…interesting that he was the person you called, that's all."

"Why is that interesting?" Angela snapped back.

"Just because of the way you are around him. The way he is around you."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Temperance put her hands up in faux defense. "Hey, it's none of my business."

Angela sighed. "What?" she asked, her tone now more calm and controlled.

Temperance shrugged. "Well…it's just that you've had feelings for him for a while now, right?"

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm a scientist. I observe."

Angela sagged back against the counter. "Do you have a point?"

"I just think that you need to talk to him. You two care about each other; he has to right to know about this."

Angela pointed her eyes toward the floor. "How am I supposed to tell him? 'Morning, Hodgins, beautiful day isn't it? Oh, by the way, I'm having your baby!' How is he going to react?" She put a hand on her forehead. "This is such a mess."

"It's going to be alright, Angela."

Angela sighed. "I want tequila."

"If I were you, I'd lay off the tequila. After all, that's what got you into this."

Angela shot Temperance a warning look, and Tempe couldn't help smiling slightly in response.

* * *

Temperance left Angela's and got home around 2:30am. She flipped on the light as she entered her apartment and dropped her coat and her bag onto the couch. Glancing around the apartment, she sighed. It had been a long day, but although she was tired, she was having a hard time convincing herself to go to bed. The thought of being tortured by another night of gruesome dreams was not appealing. Shrugging out of her clothes, she changed into a well worn tee shirt and oversized sweatpants. Not her most flattering outfit, but who cared? It's not like she was expecting company. She padded into the bathroom and washed her face, pulling her hair back into a loose pony tail. She then walked back out and plugged in her computer, resting it on top of her table. She booted up the machine and positioned her hands. Then, staring at the blank screen, she tried to think of something to write.

Anything.

It didn't matter if it was good or not.

She didn't care if it even fit with the storyline.

Really, any words would do.

By 4:30am, Temperance was dozing softly on her arm, her head beside the blank screen of her laptop.

_Temperance was lying on her back in a small boat. A canoe, perhaps? A rowboat? Wooden, most definitely. She wasn't entirely sure, as every time she turned her head to examine the sides of the boat, the lines wavered and faded. Oh, well, it wasn't really important. She closed her eyes as the water gently rocked her, but yet even though she knew her eyes were closed, she could still see. This phenomenon did not strike her as abnormal, however, and she smiled as she was carried along with the current._

_The boat came to a stop and Temperance climbed out. She was now standing in a field that sloped downward. At the base of the hill she saw a house, looking as though it were newly built. Curious, she walked toward it and entered._

_The house had no furniture and all the walls were white. The floors were hardwood. Other than the light brown and clean white, however, there seemed to be nothing of any color._

_Wandering around, Temperance heard footsteps. Pausing, she looked behind her to see who they belonged to._

_Her eyes fell on Booth, dressed in his normal work suit, who was standing behind her and smiling. "Do you like it?" he asked._

_"It's wonderful," Temperance answered._

_Booth's smile grew wider at this. "They say we can move in soon. Maybe in a week or two."_

_Temperance smiled and nodded. Her house. Her house with Booth. Their house._

_Looking around again as Booth walked beside her, Temperance began to hear footsteps again, although this time they seemed more distant, as if they were coming from outside. Looking out a window, Temperance saw a large group of people running toward the house. Their faces were stern and angry, and they all carried guns._

_Booth looked out the window as well. "Oh my God," he said. "They've found you." Temperance looked at him and saw the fear in his eyes. "Come on," he said. "We have to go. Run!"_

_And, with that, the two began running from the house._

_The footsteps of the mob pounded behind them as they ran. "Why are they after us?" Temperance asked. In the distance, she saw a car. If they could just make it to it…_

_"They must have found the bodies," Booth answered._

_Temperance nodded and the two continued to run. Eventually, they made it to the car._

_Temperance jumped behind the wheel. "Get in!" she shouted to Booth, who was now standing frozen in front of the vehicle._

_"Go!" he yelled._

_"You have to get in! They'll catch you!"_

_"They don't want me," Booth said, his voice calm. "I'm already dead."_

_"What?"_

_"They need you, Dr. Brennan. They've come for you."_

_The mob was extremely close now, and Temperance gunned the engine. With a sickening thump the car lurched forward and hit Booth. Temperance saw the pain contort on his face as the front bumper began to obscure him from view. Closing her eyes, Temperance wrenched the wheel and pointed the car toward the mob. She then hit the accelerator, flying forward and cutting a path through the people. She looked back and realized that somehow Booth had ended up in her backseat, but she kept moving. The faces of the mob flashed past her—her mother, Dr. Goodman, Zach, Cullen…one by one they fell victim to the car._

_"Go to them, Temperance," Booth voice cackled from the backseat. "You've killed them all now. Go to your dead."_

Temperance jerked awake, slamming her arm against the tabletop as she did. Jumping back from the chair, it took her moment to reorient herself in reality. _'Just another dream.'_ She breathed slowly and looked at the clock. 6:37. With shaking hands, she closed her laptop and walked toward the bathroom where she turned on the shower. She tried to calm herself as she let the hot water spill over her and as she went about her normal routine of getting ready for work. _'It was just a dream.'_

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This is a good time to voice your opinions in the form of a review, should the mood strike you to do so :-)


	16. Connections

Author's Note: Okay, I'm officially the worst reviewer in the entire world. Okay? Happy now? I swear that from now on I'll post faster. Seriously. This nightmare of a semester is almost over, so I might have some time again. Having said that, thanks for all those who did review to the chapter I posted like 17 years ago. This chapter finally tells you what White Noise means...hmm, maybe that should have come up sooner :-) Anyway, hope it isn't terrible. If everyone has forgotten the plot to this I'll give recaps. Hope people are still a little bit interested! Sorry, guys. Okay, here you go.

* * *

While Temperance was busy trying to shake off the last remnants of her latest bad dream, Angela was sitting in her office preparing to live out her own bad dream, meaning she was preparing a way to tell Hodgins that she was currently pregnant with his child. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as she watched her coffee—decaf, so what was the point, really?—grow cold. She ran over potential openers in her head.

'_Hey, Hodgins! I've great news!' Nah, to excited. 'Hodgins, I have something really important that I need to talk to you about…' no, to ominous. 'Hey, Hodgins, have you ever seen Austin Powers? Remember Mini-Me? Well, what would you say if I told you…' definitely not. 'Hodgins, we're friends, right? And friends do stuff together, right? So, good news! We did something together!' No, too…something._

Angela sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. This was getting her nowhere. How was she supposed to tell him something like this? Whether he wanted to be involved with this baby or not, it was a life changing situation. He would always be a father now, regardless of his interactions with the child. The DNA was there. There was no turning back. How would he feel when that reality took hold?

As Angela mused over these and other ideas, she began to hear the footsteps of the other Jeffersonian employees as they entered the building, gearing up for another day's work.

He would be getting here soon, she realized, and she pushed herself up from her seat and blew out a sigh as she began to pace. "Hodgins, I just want to tell you that…Hodgins, I need to talk to you about…hey, Hodgins, can I ask you something? Have you ever thought about…how do you feel about the colors pink and blue?..." she dismissed the words as quickly as they came out of her mouth.

Due to her pacing and muttering she failed to hear a new set of footsteps approaching her door.

"Hodgins, can I talk to you about something? It's kind of important…"

"What?" the voice made Angela jump.

"Hodgins! When did you get here?"

"About five minutes ago." He held up a file. "I meant to give you this yesterday, you forgot to sign it. Did you want to talk to me about something?"

Flustered, Angela accepted the file. "Oh, thanks. Um, no, I didn't need to talk to you really…"

Hodgins gave her a quizzical look. "But you just said 'Hodgins, I have something important to tell you'."

"Oh, no, I was just, um…nothing. No, I don't have anything to tell you."

Hodgins looked at her for a moment longer before shrugging. "Ookay then." He turned on his heel to leave, and as Angela took a steadying breath she felt certain that she heard him mutter "women" under his breath.

'_Yeah,'_ she thought to herself as he left the room. _'This is going to be easy…'

* * *

_

Temperance's phone rang at 10am that morning.

"Brennan."

"Hello, Temperance? It's Ophelia Stone."

Surprised by the voice on the line, there was a beat of silence before Temperance answered. "Oh, hi, Ophelia. I was just about to call you."

"Listen, I wanted to call and apologize for yesterday. I know I left in a bit of a hurry, and I didn't mean to be rude."

"Oh, no, it's fine," Temperance answered.

"No, it isn't fine. I'm sorry for my behavior."

Temperance, unsure of what to say, remained quiet for a moment.

"Also, I'm sorry I left because there was something I wanted to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet me for lunch?"

Temperance, slightly surprised by the sudden conversation, answered slowly. "Sure. Lunch sounds fine. I was actually going to ask you if you could meet today, and I also wanted to ask you if you had any of your old fan mail? We're pursuing a lead and anything you might have could be helpful."

"Yeah, I think I have some old letters and stuff around here somewhere. Why don't you come by around 12:30?"

Temperance agreed, and after bidding the final pleasantries for the conversation, the women hung up the phone.

* * *

"Hey, Zach?"

Zach Addy looked up from the desk where he was currently working to find Hodgins standing in front of him. "Yeah?"

"Have you talked to Angela today?"

Zach shook his head. "No, why?"

Hodgins rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shrugged. "I don't know, I talked to her earlier and she just seemed…weird. I didn't know if you knew what was going on."

Zach shrugged. "Maybe she's menstruating."

Hodgins paused and gave the young lab assistant a shocked stare. "Um…what?"

Zach calmly looked back at him, shrugging again. "It's a biological fact. When a woman is menstruating, her hormones shift. The result can sometimes be mood swings. Maybe that's why she seemed 'weird' when you talked to her earlier."

"Uh…I guess that could be true…"

"In fact, years ago in some cultures, when a woman was menstruating she was deemed 'unclean' and removed from society."

"Fascinating," Hodgins said, dryly. "Okay, I'm going to leave now…"

Zach nodded and returned his gaze to the work on his desk.

"And Zach?" Zach looked up at Hodgins. "Let's pretend we never had this conversation."

"Why?"

"Because I really want to forget it."

* * *

Angela paced around her office, her mind still going through possible scenarios of how Hodgins would react to her news. She was preparing comments for each situation. Anger? She had it covered—she would point out that he was involved, too, and how dare he be upset with her for something that they were equally to blame for. Sadness? No problem—she would tell him that a baby wasn't the end of the world. In fact, it was a good thing. It was a whole other person entering the world. He should be happy that he helped create that! Jubilation? Well…she didn't really have that one worked out yet. Of course, if he was for some reason wildly happy about the situation, she supposed her job was pretty much done for her. She glanced at her watch.

'_Okay,'_ she told herself. _'He should be working right about now…I guess I should just go get this over with.'_ Adding a determined nod to that thought, she walked down the hall in search of Hodgins.

She found him a few minutes later, his eyes firmly attached to a microscope.

'_Here we go,'_ she thought. _'Time to face the music. Bite the bullet.'_ She shifted her weigh from foot to foot, looking at him, but somehow unable to make herself speak. _'What are you doing, you idiot? Just talk to him!'_ Her mouth remained tightly shut.

After a few moments, Hodgins raised is head and placed a hand on the back of his neck, rotating slightly to work out the kinks. As he did so, his eyes landed on Angela, who was still rooted in place and staring at him.

"Uh…hi, Ange…" he said, surprised by her presence.

"Hi," she said, softly.

He looked at her for a moment, and when she didn't speak, he edged her on. "Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, or are you just here to admire my beauty?"

This won him a small smile. "No, I just…uh…"

He sat quietly, waiting.

"I just was going to tell you that…um…" her eyes scanned the room, looking for somewhere to land.

"Are you okay, Ange?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just…I wanted to come tell you that…uh…I finished that facial reconstruction."

Hodgins gave her a quizzical look. "That's great, but shouldn't you be telling Dr. Brennan that?"

Angela, mentally slapping herself for her stupidity, nodded. "Yes, yes I should. I just wanted to let you know…you know, in case you wanted to see it, or something." _Shut up, you idiot!_ "I mean, I don't know if it would help you, but maybe you would find it useful when you were working with the dirt particles." _What are you doing? Would you just stop talking?_ "I mean, I know it's not scientific to call it 'dirt' but you know…so, um, if you wanted to see it…the face, I mean, I have it ready. I actually think that sometimes it helps to see the victim. It makes you feel more grounded in the case. Ha, grounded…dirt…no pun intended." _Oh. My. God. Just leave. Please. Just walk out of the room while you still have a distant memory of your dignity._ "I don't know if the face helps you in what you do with the particulates…maybe it doesn't help at all. I suppose it's best if we remain impersonal about what we do…so, you know what? Maybe you shouldn't look at the face. It might be better that way."

"Uh…"

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do, though. If you think you want to see the face, you can. I mean, I have it. Ready."

"Are you okay, Ange?"

She gave a firm nod. "Yes. I am. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go tell Bren that I have the face."

"Okay…"

She turned on her heel and headed out of the room. _'Well,'_ she thought, her cheeks burning red, _'That went well.'

* * *

_

Temperance walked into Angela's office at 12:00.

"Hey, Ange, I just wanted to tell you that…"

"Oh my God!" Angela said, jumping at the sound of Temperance's voice.

"What? What?"

Angela put a hand on her chest. "Nothing, sorry, you just startled me. I was…thinking about something and I guess I didn't hear you come in."

"Oh. Sorry. Anyway, I was just going to tell you that I'm going out for lunch today, and I'll probably be gone for most of the afternoon. I'll look over the face tomorrow."

"Okay," Angela said. "Sorry I yelled at you."

"It's okay. Have you told him yet?"

"What do you think?" Angela snapped.

"I think you'll be more pleasant when your hormones are back to normal."

Angela gave her a smile. "Sorry. No, I haven't told him yet. I'm going to, though. It's just…hard to tell him about something this huge, you know?"

Temperance nodded. "Just relax. I've got to go, but I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Angela nodded. "Okay."

"It's going to be okay, Ange."

"You keep saying that. Thanks, Sweetie."

* * *

Booth strolled into the Jeffersonian at 12:45. A quick trip to Temperance's office confirmed that she wasn't there, so he made his way down to Angela's to find out where his anthropologist had gone.

"Hey, Ange?"

"JESUS, doesn't anyone KNOCK anymore?" Angela exclaimed, Booth's voice shocking her out of her thoughts.

"Uh…"

"What? What do you want?"

"Um…I was just wondering if you knew where Bones was?"

Angela sighed. "She's in her office, I think."

"I just looked, she isn't there."

"Oh, wait, that's right…she went out to lunch."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhmm."

"With who?"

Angela quirked an eyebrow in Booth's direction. "I don't know, she didn't say."

"Oh."

"You could just call her."

"Well, if she's out with someone, I don't want to bother her."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, Booth, this is Tempe! Just call her!"

"Okay, okay," Booth said, raising his hands in the air. "I'll call her. Thanks, Ange."

Angela nodded and gulped down some more of her cold decaf coffee.

"And, Ange?"

"Yeah?"

He pointed to the mug. "Go decaf."

Angela sat up straighter. Had Brennan told him? "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means…are you alright today?"

"I'm fine."

"Oookay," Booth said, heading out of her office, and for the second time that day, Angela heard a man mutter, "women."

* * *

Temperance arrive at Ophelia's house at 12:22pm. She gave the door a quick and forceful knock and then stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her black coat. She could see the breath exhaled through her nose. The weather was definitely getting colder, she notice, and as she sifted her weight from foot to foot she began to wish that she had worn warmer socks. Ophelia opened the door a few moments later, however, and Temperance was greeted by a welcome wave of warm air.

"Hello, Temperance," Ophelia said, standing in the doorway. "You're right on time. Come on in."

Temperance gave the woman a smile and gladly stepped into the warmth of the house. "Thanks," she said as she entered.

Temperance took a moment to scan the living room. The amount of clutter in the space struck her, just as it had the first day she had come to visit, and for a moment she wondered if Ophelia even paid attention to it. Her eyes were drawn to the coffee table in front of the couch where she saw a small pile of letters strewn about.

"Is that the fan mail?" Temperance asked as she shrugged out of her coat.

Ophelia nodded, accepting the coat and draping it over the back of a chair by the door. "Yeah, that's it. I think I have more around somewhere, but I can't figure out where I put it. I was looking through it before you came, maybe something there will mean something to you. Most of it seems pretty standard to me, one or two that were weird, but no one that I ever thought was scary."

Temperance nodded and walked toward the coffee table, picking up the top letter when she got to it.

She read. When she finished the top letter, she moved to the next one in the stack. And then the next. And then the next.

By the time she had made it to the seventh letter, she and Ophelia were sitting on the couch, making casual comments about the letter as Temperance read. Ophelia had been right, there was very little that stood out.

And then Temperance's eye caught it. It was in the lower half of the pile, written on yellowed paper that was curled at the edges and smudged as if it had been rained on. Temperance pulled it out and read the cramped, scratchy handwriting.

_Ms. Stone: I think your the best author ever and I think that your books are great and well thought out. Your crimes are perfectly executed and I think your storys could happen in real life. Sometime when I read your work I do think its real life. Your beautiful and I would love to meet you. What makes you think of the storys and ends? You a genus. I wish you would right me back. What don't you ever right me back? It hurts my feelings. I still love you. Right me back. From your biggest fan Sal._

Temperance's eyes scanned the note twice. The writing was haphazard and there were no clear margins on the page. It looked as if it had been written by a child.

Ophelia looked over at the note in Temperance's hands. "Oh, yeah, Sal. I forgot about him."

"Who is he?"

"He's a…fan. He started writing me about seven years ago. Some of his notes were kind of strange, so I contacted the authorities. Can't be to careful, you know? Anyway, I got a few more letters from him after that, but eventually he stopped writing. Nothing ever came of it."

Temperance nodded. "Interesting. What was his last name?"

"Mongellio, I think. I might have that wrong, though. It was a long time ago."

Temperance nodded, pulling a pen from her bag and scribbling "Sal Mongellio" onto the back of a receipt from the grocery store. "Can I borrow this note?"

Ophelia nodded. "Sure."

"Do you have any others from him?"

Ophelia shrugged. "Somewhere, I guess. But I haven't been able to find them yet. I can keep looking."

"Please do. Anything else you could give us would be a great help."

Ophelia nodded. "Of course."

A quiet moment passed as Temperance folded the note and tucked it into her bag. Ophelia broke it a moment later.

"Now, Dr. Brennan, I was wondering if I could ask _you_ something."

Temperance looked up at the older woman and nodded.

Ophelia sighed slightly. "I've wanted to talk to you about this since I met you. But before I do, I feel like I have to be completely honest with you. I think that will help you understand."

Hesitant due to the sudden change in tone, Temperance just nodded again.

Ophelia turned her eyes away from Temperance, focusing on the wrinkled papers strewn about the coffee table. "Okay. I don't know how to make you understand this. Or, I don't know how to talk to you about this without having you ignore me or trying to have me committed." She sighed again, slowly. "I was diagnosed with a mental disorder when I was 23 years old. I was told that I had schizophrenia. I heard voice talking to me." She paused for a moment, and glanced at Temperance. "People say you hear them in your head, but that's not completely true. You hear them…everywhere. It's like they're completely outside of you, but you can hear them really loudly. Like if you try to walk away from them, they'll get louder instead of quieter." She shook her head, looking away again. "It's terrible. Anyway, I was told I had this…disorder…and I was admitted to a mental care facility." She closed her eyes. "This is where most people stop listening to me. See, the worst part wasn't being locked up with those people…I mean, that was bad, but it wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that I got pregnant."

Temperance sat in a stunned silence.

Ophelia exhaled a shaky breath. "With my therapist. He was supposed to be helping me…" she paused for a moment. "I was a kid. I was scared. I wanted to be normal." She shook her head. "He told me to get an abortion, threatened me, so I broke out and ran away. I had the baby…but I was 21. I had no money, no job, no education except for a few years of community college…nothing. I got job as a waitress to support my daughter." She looked at Temperance again. "I really thought I was going to be okay, you know? I though I had it worked out. But I didn't. The voices got worse. They started telling me to do things, terrible things. One night at work it got so bad that I couldn't hear the customers when they were giving me their orders. Then this one guy started yelling at me and I still couldn't hear him over the voices and I just fell down, cried…I woke up in another mental hospital. I was to messed up to even ask who had my daughter."

"Who did have her?"

She shrugged. "No one would tell me. I kept asking people where my baby was, but they thought I was just crazy and rambling. I don't know where she was. I had been there for about 6 months when someone from work came and told me that she was in a foster home. Maybe he had been taking care of her before that. I don't know."

"The voices never went away, but the medicine they gave me did quiet them down a little bit. I needed money, though, and so I decided that I had to find something I could do anywhere, even in a mental hospital. The voices were telling me such terrible things, I thought I'd just write it down. So I started writing mysteries."

"I was released about two years later, I think. I lost track of time when I was in there. I looked for my daughter, but I couldn't find her. I tried to contact my family to see if they would help me, but they wouldn't. I had run away from home when I was eight years old, and they never tried to look for me. I don't know why they would be willing to look for a piece of me now."

"I found Haley six years later. She was nine. God, she was beautiful. I loved her, you know? I never meant to leave her. But she didn't understand that. She told me she didn't want to get to know me. That she hated me." A silent tear fell down Ophelia's cheek. "She looked like him."

Uncomfortable, Temperance reached out and awkwardly placed a hand on Ophelia's shoulder. The woman looked up at Temperance, capturing her in a watery gaze. "What were your parents like?"

Frozen, Temperance didn't answer at first. She dropped her hand away. Ophelia gave her a rueful smile. "They were…um…well, I didn't know them well."

Ophelia nodded. "Parents try. I understand that now. My parents tried. But they're just humans. Not more."

The women sat in a tense silence.

"The reason I was so upset during the interview with Agent Booth was because of the blank paper. I can't stand blank paper. It always brings the voices back. I can't stand the white noise."

"White noise?"

Ophelia looked at her. "The sound of all the voices, all the words that could be on the paper. The sounds of the potential, the characters screaming and echoing off the margins…and it looks like skin, the skin of an old sick man, with blue veins sticking out everywhere…it's deafening, but it's necessary, you know? The continuity, the sounds…it's like a string tying the world together, where you write out the connections of me meeting you and my daughter and life and death and the in between places where you can't tell the difference…"

Confused, Temperance sat unmoving, unsure of what to do.

"I know I sound crazy. That's why I told you about my mental state first, to show you that I have been crazy, and I know what it means, but I'm not crazy now. I know the difference. But I'm fascinated by this idea, this thought of connection. It's like there's a film over reality, and if we can just break through we can see it, and we can see how things link together…like the fact that I was born with a problem and ran away from home and met that one therapist and had a daughter who I didn't get to know but then later met you…you who is more like me than my daughter…" she shook her head. "And I feel like I can talk to you about this more than anyone, because your entire life operates on the binary and multifaceted conditions of connection and reality…I mean, you spend your days with death, surrounded by it, coating yourself in it. But then you write books, create characters, and create life, even if it's fictional. And you're a woman. You can make life. You are the dichotomy." Her speech was rapid, and Temperance found herself staring at her. "I'm sorry," she said, looking away again. "I don't know how to explain what I'm saying. I don't believe the world is ending or anything, and it's not like I have some conspiracy theory, but I just find it fascinating. It's all connected, you know? One different choice and you're and entirely different person…or is it preset? Is it all inevitability or is it pure chance?"

Temperance's cell phone chose that moment to shout, causing Temperance to jump slightly. She looked at the id. Booth. She silenced the ringer.

"I'm sorry. I know this is a lot, and it sounds insane…but I wanted to know what you thought about it. It's an idea, you know? If we knew all the casual factors…could we predict what would happen next?"

"I…um…I'm sorry, I have to take this call." Temperance stood up from the couch. "Thank you for letting me look through your letters. We'll be in touch. Please call if you find the others."

Ophelia nodded, standing as well. "Sure."

Temperance nodded and turned to leave, picking up her coat from the back of the couch as she went.

"Temperance?" Ophelia said before Tempe could reach the door handle. Temperance turned and looked over her shoulder. "Think about it. Even if you think it's gibberish…consider the idea." Temperance just nodded and pushed the door open, heading back to her car without looking back into the house.

* * *

Reviews are always accepted


	17. New Directions

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! Here's your next chapter. Before you read it, just let me warn you that it is not proofread, re-read, or looked over in anyway. This is completely raw, because, yes, it's late, I'm tired, and I'm just that lazy. :-) Sorry for all the typos, and I'll do better next time. Maybe. If you're lucky :-) Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading

* * *

Temperance pulled out onto the main road after making the turn off the small side street that lead to Ophelia's house. Her eyes were focused on the road, however her mind was not on driving. Instead she was running over the conversation with Ophelia, the woman's words running like a loop through her head. _It's all connected…is it all inevitability or is it pure chance? _The words echoed through Temperance. She didn't know why the words had made such an impact on her—it was all rambling, really—but for some reason she found herself preoccupied. Her phone beeped loudly, reminding her that she had missed a call from Booth. Torn from her reflection, she picked it up and redialed his number.

He obviously saw her number before he answered. "Hey, Bones."

She had to smile. "Hey, I just went to see Ophelia."

"What'd you find out?"

"Her daughter's name is Haley, but she hasn't had contact with her so I don't know what her last name is now."

"Haley. Got it. Anything else?"

"Yes, she also received several fan letters from someone named Salvador Mongellio. She said she contacted the authorities about him, so he should be in the system."

"Great. What about the girl's father?"

"She didn't say his name, but she told me he was her therapist."

Booth was quiet for a beat. "Okay, we'll definitely explore that."

"How?"

"Well, if we can find the girl, we should be able to get a look at her birth certificate. What year would that have been?"

"Her story was slightly conflicting, the timelines didn't seem accurate."

"Beautiful. Anything else that would help us?"

"She doesn't have any family, didn't mention any friends or any lovers other than the therapist."

She heard the sound of Booth clicking his pen. "Alright, I'll check into it."

"Angela finished the facial reconstruction this morning."

"Yeah, I picked up a copy of it already. I'll run it through, see what we get."

"Call me when you know something. I'm going back to the lab."

"Alright, see you later."

"Bye." Temperance snapped her phone shut and dropped it into her bag which was resting on the passenger seat. She rode in silence for a few minutes, not bothering to turn up the radio. As she did so, her brain kept repeating _why didn't you tell him about all the other things she said?

* * *

Temperance arrived back at the Jeffersonian and headed to her office. She groaned inwardly when she saw the stack of files that had been pushed aside while she helped Booth with his case; catching up on all of her back work was going to be difficult. She hung up her coat and sat down, moving the mouse on her computer to clear the screen saver. She figured she could get some work done on her book before Booth called her with more information on the case. Clicking the appropriate files, the small amount she had written flooded the screen._

She stared at the black line blinking on the right side of the last sentence she had typed. _Write something_ she willed herself. _Get something done_. The words, however, would not come, and after twenty minutes of completely wasted and unproductive time, she clicked to open a new document. Sighing, she decided to at least attempt to do something constructive.

Settling back in her chair, she began typing out the facts of the case, beginning with the victims. The first victim had be buried on top of Harold Gibson, matching closely with Ophelia's book _The Darkness Beneath_. They had found that the victim was Debra Grey. The second victim had been a male, though he hadn't been identified yet. Booth had his information, though, along with the information he had acquired today about their third victim, the girl in the woods. Three dead bodies. A quick scan confirmed that all three deaths matched Ophelia Stone novels, though each was from a different book. Then, there were the notes. Two in all. Temperance studied them for a brief moment before retyping them on her computer screen. The first letter, 'how dArk tHE graVeyard grows. benEath the surface, because of The Stone, dEad she Lies. **M**igHty OPhelia, the river washed ovEr, Stealing her away' and the second letter, 'Cover Your DEAd wItH bramblEs aNd roOt. aNother foR tHe count. tIMe tickS againSt yOu.'

Temperance stared at the information on the computer screen. Other than the fact that all three deaths were related to Ophelia's books, there were no obvious similarities. _It's all connected. Is it inevitability or pure chance?_ Temperance sighed, refocusing her attention on the screen and trying to will Ophelia's words away as she struggled to concentrate.

* * *

Down the hall, Angela was still pacing around her office. She knew she needed to tell him; he would be leaving soon. She sighed. "I can't do this," she said to herself.

"Can't do what?"

Angela jumped and quickly turned to find Hodgins standing in her office. "Hodgins! I, uh, didn't hear you."

"What can't you do?"

"I…nothing, I was just talking to myself."

Hodgins sighed and turned slightly so he could push the door shut. Then, he stepped forward and dropped into a chair. "Okay, you're going to tell me what's going on. It's Goodman, isn't it? He finally admitted that he and Cullen have been working together in some kind of entrapment plot to get us all fired and discredited. They're trying to cover up something, aren't they?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the conspiracy…what are _you _talking about?"

"I was just talking about…nothing. I was just talking to myself."

"Yeah, you've been doing that all day. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on."

"_Something's_ going on."

_This is ridiculous. Just tell him_. Angela sighed. "Okay. Fine." She took another deep breath and moved to sit down. Once she was seated, she began studying her hands. "Do you, um, remember that…night? About a month ago?"

Understanding clicked in Hodgins' head, and he nodded slowly. "Of course I do. Why?"

"How…um, how did you feel about that?"

Hodgins was quiet for a moment, studying her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, was that like a drunken loss of judgment, or…or something you really regret? Something you really just want to forget about?"

Hodgins continued to look at her, wishing she would look up so he could read her expression. "That was…we…" he sighed. "It was neither."

She glanced up then. "What was it, then?"

Hodgins shook his head. "Where are you going with this?"

She looked down again and mumbled, "Hodginsi'mpregnantwithyourbaby."

"What was that?"

She sighed. "I'm…pregnant."

Hodgins froze and she lifted her face to look at him. "With your baby."

* * *

"Christmas came early this year, Bones!" Booth announce as he walked into Temperance's office.

"Christmas can't come early, it's at a fixed time of year."

"Yeah, I know, but I meant…never mind. We have our id's."

Temperance picked up one of the files Booth had dropped onto her desk. "Both of them?"

"Both of them. The man was Jensen Bright and the girl was Cindy Osman. Everything checked out. But that's not all." Booth picked another file off the desk. "I was also able to find not only Haley Stone, but also Salvador Mongellio _and_ Theodore Lyle."

"Who is Theodore Lyle?"

"The therapist."

Temperance leafed through the papers. "How did you do all this in an afternoon?"

Booth flashed a charm smile. "I'm good."

"And modest. So her daughter's last name is still Stone?"

"Yeah. And she was the easy one. She has a jacket thicker than _War and Peace_." He picked up a piece of paper. "Everything from petty theft to drug dealing. She's been busy."

"What about the others?"

"Theodore Lyle lost his license to practice almost six years ago. Can you guess why?"

"I might be able to. What about Mongellio?"

"Ah…Mongellio…" Booth leafed through some more papers. "Accomplice of Ms. Stone, she had a restraining order against him in '02. Not much other than that, some minor convictions, nothing major."

"Accomplice?"

"He was her boyfriend."

"No, that can't be right. Sal Mongellio is the man who was writing the fan mail to Ophelia."

"Sal Mongellio was dating Ophelia's daughter."

Booth and Temperance shared a look.

Booth pulled out his pen. "Looks like Mr. Mongellio will be the first one we talk to."

"The daughter should probably be next."

Booth flashed her a smile. "Why didn't I think of that?" He jotted down a note as Temperance rolled her eyes. "Haley Stone…why would you give your kid a name like that?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"It sounds like some freak weather thing…hail stones." He shrugged. "Just seems weird, that's all."

"Your parents named you Seeley."

"So?"

Temperance shrugged. "Some people would argue that that's an unconventional name."

"At least I don't sound like a destructive kind of weather."

" 'Seeley' is the name of a high contagious virus found in many wetland regions."

Booth gave Temperance a slightly hurt look. "It is?"

Temperance had to smile, giving away her lie. "No. I'm going to look at the bones again."

Booth had to smile as he followed Temperance out of her office. She was joking with him. It felt nice. He mentally wiped his forehead, relieved that she seemed to have forgotten about his kissing her on the cheek in the parking lot. _But you didn't really want her to forget it…_ He told himself to shut up as he followed her onto the platform.

* * *

Hodgins sat stunned, not speaking. After about ten minutes of excruciating silence, Angela, growing agitated, began speaking rapidly. "You don't have to be involved with this if you don't want to be. I mean, you _are_ involved, obviously, but I know that you might not want to be a dad right now and so if that's what you want that's okay…well, I guess you're still a dad, but you can handle it however you want to. And I know this comes as a shock, but it's not something I planned on either, even though I know that doesn't make it any better, and I know we used protection, but it doesn't always work…I mean, have you ever seen _Friends_? It happened to them, too…even though it didn't really happen because it was just scripted, but you know what I mean…and they were fine! And…Hodgins? Hodgins? JACK, can you PLEASE just say something?"

"A…baby."

Angela sighed. She had been ready for all his responses. She had it all covered. But she hadn't been prepared for a complete _lack_ of reaction.

He pointed to her. "I mean, in there…now?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"My baby…is right there?"

Something about his tone gave her pause, and when she spoke her voice was softer. "Yeah. Right now."

He didn't say anything for a moment. "Jack, are you okay?"

She noticed then that his eyes were moist. "I'm…I'm going to be a dad?"

"Well…only if you want to be."

"A dad."

"Jack…"

"A daddy."

She had to smile. "Yeah. Yeah, a dad."

When he looked up her, he was smiling. "How are you feeling?"

She smiled slightly. "Tired. Jack…are you okay with this? I mean, I know we didn't plan this…"

He nodded slightly.

"And, we aren't even really a couple…"

He nodded again. "I know. But we'll figure it out, won't we? I mean…" he gestured toward her again "…it's a _baby_. It's our baby."

"You're taking this amazingly well. Much better than I did."

He smiled again. "I'm going to be a _daddy_."

* * *

Temperance stayed in the lab until after midnight that night, searching the remains for any clues she might have missed. By the time she packed up her things to leave the lab was dark and everyone was long gone for the night.

She climbed into her car and drove home, hoping that the long day would make sleep come easier for her that night. Her eyes were heavy by the time she made it to her apartment, so much so that she was relived when she finally made it to the door. As she fished in her purse for her keys, her shoulder hit the door and, much to her surprise, the door opened.

Temperance stood at the doorway, her momentary confusion switching to shock and fear as her brain went on high alert. Someone had been in her apartment. With muscles rigid, she inched forward, pushing the door open a bit more as she noiselessly entered. A light was on in the kitchen, casting the main room in an eerie glow as she gazed in. Her breath hitched in throat. The apartment was trashed. A lamp lay shattered on the floor, its bulb exploded into millions of jagged pieces. A couch cushion was thrown across the room, slashed open, its fillings spilling out onto the floor which was covered in books and papers. Her CD's were strewn about everywhere; her CD player was smashed and spread around the room.

_He could still be here_ she thought as she moved in a step further, but even as she did so, another part of her mind asked _how could someone have done all this without being heard?_ She reached for her cell phone in her bag. When she pulled it out, however, she found that the battery had died. She hadn't charged it all day. Her only choice was to get to her phone, located on the far side of the room. She took another tentative step, flipping on the light as she did so. Brightness flooded the room and her breath hitched as she waited for someone to leap out. When she saw and heard nothing, she began to step again, her fear of attack dissipating slightly.

She was halfway across the room when she saw it. Laying in the floor, ripped to shreds, were copies of Ophelia's books. But this was not what shocked her. Lying in the middle of the bouquet, in the middle of Temperance's apartment, was a human skull.

Temperance grabbed the phone and called 911. As she hung up the phone, she turned and froze again. Written in bright red on her wall, she read the words "hEll haS no FearS of YOU, TEmperAnce bReNnAn."

* * *

I am willing to accept reviews at this point


	18. Regrets

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! I love hearing what you guys have to say. As far as this chapter goes, I have once again neglected to proofread, because, really, who cares if it makes no sense, right:-) I do hope that there are no huge errors, but if there are, I apologize, feel free to yell at me. Anyway, I think some of you might like it, at least I hope so. Okay, off you go

* * *

A half hour later Temperance was kneeling in the floor of her apartment, her hands covered by latex gloves as she examined the skull that had been left in her living room. It seemed to be well intact, and as Temperance turned it in her hands she noted dark staining on one side. It was definitely human, and although the person had suffered a head injury, it was unlikely that that was the cause of death. However, based on the fact that the skull had been removed from the rest of the remains and strategically placed in Temperance's apartment, she felt as though she was most definitely looking that the skull of a victim of a homicide.

Police officers filled her apartment, but she took little notice of them. Random flashes went off around her as photos were taken, and she had already answered a few questions from one of the officers, stating that she hadn't moved or touched anything, and informing them that the door had been opened when she got home, despite the fact that the lock was in perfect condition. That was perhaps one of the most disturbing facts, in Temperance's opinion—there were no signs of forced entry, a fact that was fundamentally at odds with the state of the rest of her apartment.

She continued to look at the skull, but was soon distracted by commotion from the hallway.

"I'm a federal agent, alright, pal? Step aside."

"Sir, I'm sorry, this is a crime…"

"Hey, see the badge, Junior? Maybe you should spend less time harassing me and more time figuring out who broke in."

Temperance raised her eyes slightly as Booth angrily entered her apartment, trailed by a half-angry half-confused police officer. Booth was dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt, and he paused in front of her with his hands on his hips.

"What the hell hap…why are you holding a skull?"

Temperance, who had dropped her gaze back to the head in her hands, raised her eyes to him again. "Someone broke in."

"I gathered that," Booth answered, his voice testy.

"They left this here. If I had to guess, I would say it's male, but I'd like to do some measurements to be sure. It could possibly fall in the female range, though it would be at the larger end of the spectrum."

Another flash went off behind Booth, and as he turned, his eyes fell on the message on the wall. "What the…"

"Oh, and they wrote that."

Booth turned back to Temperance, his eyes boring into her. A tensely silent moment passed.

"Don't worry, it's not blood, just red paint. I checked it after I called the police. It was only about half dry then." Her tone was calm, and for a moment Booth thought he was going insane.

"Okay, so you're telling me someone broke into your apartment and didn't take anything, but trashed everything, wrote a message on the wall, and left a skull?"

"Yes. Oh, and they ripped up Ophelia's books. That's what the skull was sitting on."

Booth just stared at her for a moment.

"Excuse me, Ms. Brennan?" said a young officer.

"Doctor Brennan," Temperance and Booth corrected at the same time.

"We have most of what we need for now, but we advise you not to stay here tonight."

"No shit, Sherlock," Booth shot at the young man.

The officer gave Booth a quick look before returning his attention to Temperance. "Do you have somewhere you can stay for the night?"

"Yeah, I can stay with…"

"Me. Here's my card…" Booth scribbled his home and cell number onto the back, "and you will call me the second you know anything. Got that?"

Temperance looked at Booth and rolled her eyes. "I doubt they'll know much tonight, Booth." She turned her attention back to the police officer. "I can stay with a friend. You should know that based on the scene this is related to a case we're working on, so it's likely the FBI will be taking over the investigation."

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes flicked to Booth for a second before resettling on Temperance. "But we'll let you know if we find anything before the jurisdiction officially changes."

"Great, c'mon, Bones," Booth said as he possessively wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.

She shot him a look. "Calm down, Booth. Do you mind if I grab some things first?" Her tone was sarcastic enough to slightly elevate his irritation.

"Fine, just…" He didn't get a chance to finish as she walked away from him, heading toward her bedroom.

* * *

About ten minutes later, Temperance and Booth were headed out of the building. As Temperance started walking toward her car, however, Booth spoke.

"Whoa, whoa, what do you think you're doing?"

Keys in hand, Temperance gave him a quizzical look. "I'm…getting in my car. It's how I go places."

Booth shook his head. "No way. Get in, I'm driving, let's go."

Frustrated, Temperance felt her cheeks begin to flush. "I need my car, Booth!"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight, not after what happened."

"Fine, then I guess you're riding with me," Temperance shot back as she popped the door locks.

"Wait—no, we can't do that! What about _my _car?"

"Frustrating, isn't it? Ride wherever you want, I'm driving my car."

With an exasperated groan, Booth relented and headed to his SUV, making sure to follow Temperance closely as they left the parking lot.

Temperance and Booth made it to Booth's building without incident, and after locking their respective vehicles, they headed inside.

"I can't believe you didn't call me!" Booth said as he unlocked the door and let them both inside.

Temperance sighed. "I did call you, Booth, right after I called the police."

"I _am_ the police! You should have called me first!"

"You are not the police, Booth! You're an FBI agent! Just having a badge doesn't make you a police officer!"

"Whatever, I still should have been the first one you called."

Temperance sighed again, heavier this time. "What do you want me to say, Booth? I'm sorry? Please excuse me, because after all, I should have stopped to consider your ego before I reacted in a logical way to the fact that my apartment had been wrecked and someone had left a _human head_ beside my couch!"

"A human head that was resting on a nest of Ophelia Stone novels! You knew that this was related to our case, you should have called me!"

"Why? So you could swoop in and catch the guy who had trashed my apartment and _left_?"

"You didn't know that he had left! Christ, Bones, anything could have happened to you! What were you thinking? No, wait, that's just the problem, you don't think! You just act! What if he had still been here? What if he was waiting for you?"

"Booth…"

"And you would have just walked right into him! It wouldn't have even been a fight!"

"_Booth…_"

"You wouldn't have had a chance to defend yourself, no matter how well trained you are! Do you have any idea? Do you even care? I just don't understand, Bones. When you saw that the door had been _broken open…_"

"BOOTH!"

At the sound of her shout, Booth paused and took a breath.

"I know, Booth, it was stupid, okay? What do you want me to say?"

"I want you tell me why it happened!"

"How the hell should I know?" Temperance nearly shouted. "I come home after a long day only to find out that someone has broken into my home. Do you think maybe there was a chance I wasn't thinking clearly? What was I supposed to do?"

"You should have called me."

"What difference would that have made? If he was waiting for me, he would have heard me come home. There would have been nothing you could have done."

At the sound of these words, Booth almost visibly flinched. He knew she was right; logically, had someone wanted to attack her, he probably _couldn't_ have been there in time to save her, but somehow hearing it out loud just made it worse.

"You still should have called me."

"I _did_ call you."

"I mean you should have called me _before_ you walked around an apartment that had been recently been broken into and trashed. When you saw the door, you should have gotten out of there and called me."

"Booth…" Both of their voices were softer now, the shouting lessening.

"It's not always going to be an empty apartment, Bones."

"I'm fine, Booth."

Booth sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Let me ask you a question, then."

"What?"

"What if he had still been there? What if he had been waiting for you?"

"_I'm fine_, Booth. Nothing happened." Booth gave a slight grunt and turned his head away slightly. Temperance shook her head and dropped into one of the chairs with a sigh.

After a pause, Booth ran his fingers back through his hair and spoke again. "It would kill me if something happened to you, Bones. It scares me that you aren't more careful."

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean 'why'? You're my partner. And you're my friend."

"Why did you kiss me?"

Booth froze. "What?"

Temperance felt a slight blush rising to her cheeks. "In the parking lot. Why did you kiss me?"

"I…um…I didn't. I mean…"

Temperance pushed up to her feet and tentatively walked toward him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a hard look. "Why?"

Searching for words but not finding any, Booth just looked at her.

After a few more seconds of silence, Temperance took another step forward. "Booth…"

Booth, still silent, averted his eyes toward the floor.

Temperance looked at him for a moment, thinking back over his earlier words. _You don't think. You just act_. And then, closing the distance with one last step, she did just that.

The kiss was slow and tentative at first, but even in the small amount of time that their lips were touching, Booth realized that it was all he had thought it would be. He felt his hand rest themselves on her sides, and he felt the wonderful light pressure of her hands resting gently on his chest. It was, by all accounts, a chaste kiss and for a moment Booth was transported backwards through time. _It feels like a first kiss_ he thought. _Not a first kiss with a new girl or in a new relationship, but a first first kiss…the kind of kiss you have after giving a girl a bunch of cheap wilted flowers and fumbling through an evening of self-conscious conversation and then awkwardly leaning in…that wonderful, confusing, mind-numbing moment when you truly believe that this is all that is important and the rest of the world just sifts away…_

Temperance pulled back slightly, her eyes still mostly closed, and Booth took a moment to take in her face. _She's perfect_ he thought. _Completely_. And yet, even as this realization swam lazily around his hazed mind, she opened her eyes fully, and at the moment they locked with his, his mind produced a single word. _Stop_.

_Stop?_ A rapid fire war raged in his brain in the two seconds that followed.

_Why stop?_

_Because she's had a hard night. She's scared. You can't take advantage of her._

_Take advantage? She kissed _me.

_She's looking for comfort. Just comfort her. If you take this any farther, she'll regret it. Do you want that to happen?_

_Who says she'll regret it?_

_Because we live in a little place called _reality. _You can't do this right now. Not when she's this vulnerable._

_But…_

Temperance began to lean in again slightly. _STOP!_ his mind shrieked, and somehow catching up with the thought, he pulled back slightly.

Her eyes opened, locking once again with his, confusion clouding the rich color.

"Bones…" she pulled back a millimeter more, her gaze now completely falling under his. "You're scared. You've had a bad night. We shouldn't do this…" He cursed himself as a hurt look crossed her eyes. "I mean, I just don't want you to do something you'll regret…"

She took a full step back, slipping from his hands. He could see confusion in her eyes, even though she kept her face from showing any emotion.

"Bones…"

She nodded. "You're right…I just…I don't know what I was thinking."

The words struck him, even though he could tell they weren't true.

She grabbed the handle on the duffle bag she had packed. "Listen, I appreciate you letting me stay and everything, but, uh, I don't think…I think I'll go to Angela's."

"No—I mean, you don't have to leave, I just didn't…"

She was already moving toward the door. "No, really, Booth. It's okay."

She was twisting the handle when he exclaimed, "you can't leave! What if something else happens? I have to make sure…"

"I'll be fine, Booth. Whoever broke into my apartment wasn't trying to get me." She stepped into the hallway. "I'll see you later."

He stood dumbly, staring after her. _Say something, stupid!_ But no words came as he watched her retreat down the hall and out of sight. _Smooth, man. Way to put a stop to the thing you've been dreaming about for months._

* * *

Temperance pulled her car onto the main drag, heading no where in particular, her mind racing. Why had she kissed Booth? Why had she thought that would be a good idea? What had possessed her? Now she had wrecked a friendship. A damn good friendship. She wasn't worried about work—sure, it might be awkward, but they were both professionals. They could deal with that. But their friendship? That was effectively ruined. She groaned aloud, even though there was no one in the car to hear her.

After driving around aimlessly for a while, she decided that she should head to Angela's. She glanced at her clock, noting that Angela was probably be asleep by now anyway. As she began making the appropriate turns to get to Angela's, however, her eyes saw the neon sign for a bar. _God, I could use a drink_, she thought, and flipping on her blinker, she turned into the parking lot.

The bar was dimly lit and only a few people were scattered around. The bartender looked tired and only showed that he acknowledged her presence by slightly lifting his head as she walked toward in. She scanned the crowd quickly and, much to her surprise, her eyes fell on a familiar figure, hunched over a glass on a stool.

She approached the counter and ordered, slipping into the seat beside Hodgins. At the sound of her voice, he turned his head to her.

"Hey, Dr. Brennan," he said. His voice betrayed the fact that he had been in the bar for a while.

The bartender brought her her glass, which she downed almost immediately. "Another, please," she said, pushing the glass back toward him.

The bartender picked up her glass and began preparing her a new one.

Hodgins appraised his boss with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged, opting to take another sip from his own drink. The bartender reappeared, sitting another drink in front of the doctor.

Temperance and Hodgins sat in silence for a few moments. "So why are you here?" Hodgins asked.

"Bad night."

"I hear that." Hodgins took another swig of his drink.

Temperance glanced at him. "What about you?"

Hodgins rested the glass between his hands, letting the cold seep through his skin. "She pregnant."

Remembering, Temperance nodded.

Failing to notice her lack of response, Hodgins continued on. "And so I'm going to be a dad, but I don't know how the hell to do that. And she was all freaked out about it, and after she told me I tried to talk to her and she kept brushing me off and telling me I didn't have to be involved. And I want to be, you know? But it got me thinking—what if I'm no good at this? I mean, it's a kid. I have an opportunity here to…to…and what if I just screw it up and one day my kid is telling all everyone what an awful father he has…"

"You'll be a fine dad, Hodgins."

"Yeah, but what about Angela? She was so freaked out, I know she doesn't want to get involved or anything, and call me old fashioned, but I feel like a kid's parents should be a team. I'm not saying I think we should get married or anything, but we need to at least be together, you know? And I don't know if we work as a couple, but it seems like we should find out now before the kid gets here."

"Give her time."

"Yeah, yeah…it's not like you and Booth, you know? If he knocked you up I bet you two would just ride off into the sunset." Hodgins took another swig of his drink.

Temperance downed the rest of her drink, signaling for another. "That's wrong on multiple levels. First, I don't want kids, and second, Booth and I would never be a couple."

"Why not? You're hot."

Temperance faced Hodgins and he met her with a wide grin. "Just lookin' for a reaction."

The two laughed easily, the first time either had laughed that night.

"So, you didn't say, what happened to you tonight?"

The bartender handed Temperance her third drink. "Someone left a head in my apartment."

"That sucks. Human?"

Temperance nodded, watching as she swirled the liquid around in her glass.

Hodgins shook his head, taking another drink. "A human head…that's a bitch."

The two continued talking and drinking for an hour and half, until they were both drunk. When the bartender approached them and told them it was last call, they finished what they had, paid their tab, and after a quick assessment, called cabs.

They bid one another goodbye when their respective rides arrived, and despite that fact that it was almost morning, Temperance called Angela and in a slurred voice asked if she could sleep there. Angela, still groggy, said she could, and a short time later she opened her door to give a stumbling Temperance Brennan admittance.

"What's going on?" Angela asked.

"My apartment got broken into."

"This late at night?"

"No."

"You're drunk."

"Yeah." And, with that, Temperance fell fully dressed onto the couch and went to sleep. Confused, Angela shook her head and pulled off Temperance's shoes before draping a blanket over her and heading back to her own room where she passed the short amount of time that was left before her alarm went off.

* * *

You can review if you feel like it


	19. A Break from Reality

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter! I appreciate you guys for sticking with this story even though it seems that I only update it once a year or so. I do feel bad about that, if makes you feel any better. I don't think there's anything special you need to know as far as this chapter is concerned. Oh, except that it isn't proofread. Yeah, yeah, I know, there's no excuse for that...sorry. Anyway, hope it's readable, if it isn't then you can yell at me. Here you go...

* * *

When Temperance Brennan slowly regained consciousness the next morning, she quickly became aware of four things.

The first thing she was aware of was the fact that her brain seemed to want to come through her eyes. The pounding was so intense that for a moment she swore she could hear the word _as-pirin _being chanted in time with her skull. Not wanting to move, she tried to push herself deeper into her pillow, which led to her second realization, which was that she was lying on a couch, and that it wasn't her couch. Confused, she jumped slightly, she sudden motion of which led to realization number three, which was that moving gave her body the intense desire to purge all of the contents of her stomach by way of her mouth.

Groaning slightly, she gingerly rolled over and rested her hand on her forehead. The sunlight was glaring at her through the window with what was, in Temperance's opinion, and unnecessary intensity. And then, when her brain slowly began to process the sunlight, Temperance glanced at her watch, leading her to her fourth realization.

It was 10:39. She was late for work.

She jolted at sat bolt upright at this realization, and this, of course, reminded her of realization three. She glanced around, quickly remembering that she was at Angela's as the events from the night before came back to her, and she had to smile when her eyes fell on the coffee table. A bottle of aspirin and glass of water sat waiting for her, along with a note that read:

_Had an appt, back soon. Coffee's in the kitchen._

_-A_

Temperance gratefully popped the top on the bottle and dumped three pills into her hand, which she swallowed with a gulp of the water. As she was finishing this process, she heard the faint sounds of keys in the door.

"Morning, starshine," Angela said in a voice that was, in Temperance's opinion, entirely too perky and entirely too loud.

"Mmm," was the sound of Temperance's mumbled response. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

Angela closed the door behind her and Temperance winced at the noise. "It's Saturday, Sweetie, we aren't all you."

Temperance slumped back against the couch. Thank God for Saturdays.

Angela dropped her purse and keys and disappeared into the kitchen. Temperance closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her face. She was starting to wake up, and some of the hangover effects were lessening. Angela reappeared a few moments later with two coffee cups, handed one to Temperance, and sat down in chair facing her.

"Thanks," Temperance said, breathing in the scent of the cup. The coffee was warm, though not hot, but to Temperance it seemed like liquid heaven.

They sipped their coffees for a minute before Temperance spoke again. "You're drinking decaf, right?"

"So are you," Angela answered. "Welcome to my hell."

"Did you see the doctor this morning?"

Angela nodded. "He said everything looks fine."

"Good," Temperance said, taking another sip of her drink.

They were quiet for a minute longer. Angela broke the silence this time. "So, are you planning on explaining why you showed up at my house in the middle of the night completely hammered, or am I going to have to guess?"

"Someone broke into my apartment."

"And force-fed you vodka?"

"No. They left me a skull." Temperance took another sip of coffee as Angela stared at her.

"You know, if you were anyone else, I would be shocked."

Temperance shrugged. "Anyway, the police checked everything out, but I couldn't stay there."

"I'm surprised Booth didn't make you go with him."

Temperance took another gulp of coffee.

"So, anyway, I stopped at a bar for a while and then I came here."

Angela quirked her eyebrow at Temperance as Temperance continued to drink. "So you're telling me you came home, found a skull in your apartment, called the police, then went out drinking, and then showed up at my house? Why am I thinking that I'm missing some major pieces of this story?"

Temperance shrugged. Angela pressed on. "Did you call Booth?"

"Right after I called the police."

"And he was cool with you just taking off to go drinking by yourself?"

"I didn't decide to go to the bar until I was on my way here."

"Okay, then lets back up. Bar aside, he was okay with letting you leave by yourself?"

Temperance sighed. "No, not at first. But we…talked…and then he realized that I would be fine. So I left, saw the bar, and ended up stopping in for a while."

"Where you drank all by yourself?'

"No, Hodgins was there."

Angela paused for a moment. "Hodgins?"

Temperance took another drink of her coffee and nodded. "Yeah." They were quiet for a moment. "It's good that he knows, Ange."

Angela nodded.

Before the two could say anything else, Angela's phone rang. Temperance continued to drink her coffee as she listened to Angela's end of the conversation.

"Hello? Oh, hey, Booth…yeah, she's here…uh huh…yeah, do you want to talk to her?" Angela listened to Booth's answer to this last question while giving Temperance a quizzical look. "Okay…yeah, well, if we hear anything…sure. Okay. Talk to you later, Booth."

Angela replaced the phone receiver as Temperance intently swirled her coffee.

"So…does this mean I get to hear the rest of the story now?"

Temperance sighed as Angela leaned forward and took the coffee cup from her hands, resting it on the table.

"There's nothing to tell."

"I beg to differ. I just talked to him."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, really? Then why did he wait till this late to make sure you were here? Why did he call me instead of calling your cell?"

Temperance sighed again.

"What happened?"

"Just…I don't know…nothing happened. We fought and then…nothing happened."

"Okay, so you fought. Over what?"

"He was mad that I called the police before I called him."

"Okay. Then what happened?"

Temperance took a deep breath. "I don't know. We were arguing, I guess, but it wasn't serious, you know? It was just like we always do. But then…then I screwed everything up."

"Honey, no matter what happened, I'm sure the two of you can work it out."

"You don't get it, Angela. I had it all. I had the perfect relationship."

"Perfect how?"

"He was one of my best friends. We could talk to each other. We could laugh together. He took care of me when I was upset. He was willing to put up with me when I was in a bad mood. We could just spend time together, doing nothing, and have a good time."

Angela smiled and gave Temperance a small nod. "Okay, that sounds great. So what's the problem?"

"I screwed it up."

"How?"

Temperance sighed. "I…I don't know. I changed it. I altered the dynamic. I took what we had and tried to turn it into…something else."

Angela pressed on, although she knew the answer to her question before she asked it. "What did you try to change it into, Sweetie?"

Temperance exhaled deeply, resting her face in her hands, slightly muffling her words. "Love. I wanted to fall in love with my best friend."

Angela nodded. "Yeah. I know."

Temperance hit the coffee table with an open palm, causing Angela to jump. Exasperated, she slumped back on the couch, her eyes cast downward toward the floor.

Angela leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. With a deep breath, choosing her words carefully, she spoke.

"You can't control how you feel, Tempe."

"Bullshit."

'_Oookay…'_ Angela said to herself. _'New tactic.'_ "Look, you were friends with him. That's great. But can you honestly say that the relationship was perfect?" Temperance glanced up, and Angela pressed on. "The definition of the perfect relationship changes depending on who is in the relationship. Sometimes the perfect relationship is talking and laughing; sometimes it's mutual respect. Sometimes it might even be total avoidance of one another. But sometimes, if we're lucky, we meet someone with whom the perfect relationship is something bigger."

Temperance sighed. "Yeah, Angela, that might _sound_ nice, but…"

"The perfect relationship with him doesn't stop with long conversations and stupid laughs."

"Ange…"

"And you know I'm right."

Temperance crossed her arms over her chest before meeting Angela's eyes. "You say that. You say that I have to be willing to take a chance, that I have to risk it all if I want to get it all. Fine. I can understand the logic in that. But what about you? Why doesn't it work the same way for you?"

Angela stiffened. "This isn't about me."

"You're pregnant with his baby, Ange. _His baby_. And yet you still can't find the courage to turn the relationship into something real?"

Angela turned her eyes to her lap, her posture rigid. "That's different. It's…"

"It's what? It's different because it's you? It's different because it's Hodgins? What? Why don't the same rules apply to you?"

"It's different," Angela began, her voice even, "because the people are different. I'm not in love with him. He's not in love with me."

"You're the mother of his child."

"I'm the girl he was messing around with when the protection failed."

"Bullshit." It was said softer this time, quietly calling the bluff.

Angela glanced up and a moment of mutual understanding passed. Temperance flopped back, slouching once again in her seat. "We're a nice pair," she commented sarcastically.

Angela released a slight snort of laughter. "Yeah. We're pathetic."

Temperance nodded, and a moment of silence ensued. It was Temperance who broke it. "He cares about you, Ange."

"He…"

"And you want to be with him. Even if only to find out what it's like."

Now it was Angela's turn to sigh. "I want caffeine. And a nap."

Temperance laughed slightly. "Those two don't mix well."

"I bet I could make it work."

Temperance smiled. "It's okay to care about him, you know. Someone once told me that we can't control how we feel…"

Angela looked up and smiled back. "Shut up."

* * *

Angela and Temperance left the apartment about an hour later to go the bar so Temperance could get her car back. Temperance then followed Angela back to Angela's apartment, where she took a shower and put on a fresh change of clothes. After this process was completed, the two realized that neither felt like facing real life, so they wasted the majority of the afternoon before renting movies and picking up pizza and chips. They then spent their evening eating junk food and making fun of the acting in the cheap grade B movies they had rented.

By the time the credits on the second movie rolled they had talked about everything under the sun that was not related to work. Both were immensely thankful for the break. Then Temperance's cell phone rang.

She picked it up and looked at the screen. Booth. She groaned.

"Just answer it, it could be important."

Temperance shrugged. "If it's important, he'll leave a message."

The phone completed its ring, and Temperance and Angela waited. A short while later no message had appeared, and Temperance shrugged.

Angela's phone rang then.

"Hello? Hey, Booth." Temperance shot Angela a look. "Yeah, yeah, she's still here." Temperance shot Angela another look which she hoped was interpreted as _tell-him-I'm-in-the-bathroom-or-tell-him-that-I'm-asleep-or-whatever-you-want-but-don't-you-dare-tell-him-I-can-talk-and-hand-me-the-phone_. "Oh, sure, here she is." Angela gave Temperance a sweet smile as she handed her the phone. Temperance just glared back as she accepted it.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Bones. How are you doing?"

"Fine. Anything on my apartment?"

"Nothing yet, but we'll get there. Jurisdiction should change hands soon, too."

"Okay."

The two shared a silent moment.

"You didn't answer your cell."

"No."

There was another quiet moment, and Temperance was fairly certain she heard Booth sigh on the other end. "Listen, Bones, I'm sorry, okay? It didn't mean for that to happen. I just didn't want you to do something you would regret. And after what you'd been through…it just felt like I was taking advantage."

"Okay."

"Aren't you even going to talk to me about this?"

"Now isn't a good time."

Booth sighed again. "Alright, fine. For the record, though, Bones? I wish my conscience hadn't caught up with me." And before she could answer, he had hung up the phone.

Temperance sighed heavily and pushed the button to hang up the phone. Angela was looking at her expectantly. "Well, that was a chilly conversation," she commented.

Temperance nodded.

"I mean, really, what was that? What the hell happened in that fight?"

Temperance groaned. "Do we have to do this again?"

Angela put up her hands in faux defense. "Hey, none of my business." And then she sat and looked at Temperance, waiting.

"I might have kissed him."

Angela looked at her, shocked. "What do you mean, 'might have'?"

"I mean…I kissed him."

"And you waited until _now_ to share this detail?"

She shrugged. "I kissed him. Then he told me to stop. Then I left."

"He did what?"

"Do we have to keep doing this? You know everything now, and I'm tired."

Angela continued to look at her with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just…this is big news. You actually _kissed_ him? Finally? I didn't think it would ever happen."

"Nothing _did_ happen."

"You must have misunderstood him or something. I mean…"

"I was there, Ange."

The sat for a moment more, and finally Temperance stood. "I'm going to go wash my face, and then I think I'll try to get some sleep. You probably should, too. It's late, and you need to be taking care of yourself."

Angela nodded. "Yeah, okay."

The two went about cleaning the living room, Angela continually stealing looks at her best friend she couldn't help it. Even if it hadn't gone well, she was proud of her. She had taken a chance. She had risked her feelings, and even though she had gotten burned, or maybe just singed, Angela couldn't help her wonderment. Temperance had done it. _Maybe I can, too…_

"Night, Ange," Temperance said as she sunk back down onto the couch after everything was cleaned up.

"Night, Sweetie."

* * *

Sunday was mostly uneventful. Booth didn't call back, something Temperance was grateful for, and Angela and Hodgins made no discernable effort to contact one another. By the time Sunday night came, Temperance and Angela were feeling more normal. Sure, it might seem cowardly, but both silently agreed that simply ignoring your problems for a day seemed healthy in some strange way. Monday morning they got up and dressed for work quietly, both knowing that real life was back. They went to work, headed to their respective offices when they got there, and set about having a normal day.

Booth arrived at 11:15 that morning while Temperance was going over the skull from her apartment which had been sent to the Jeffersonian.

"Hey, Bones, I've got something for ya."

She looked up as he walked up the platform and scanned his card.

"Some kids found it in some woods just outside the city." He gestured toward the door where three uniformed men were bringing in a lumpy body bag. "Oh, and it doesn't have a head. I thought that might be of interest."

* * *

If you feel the urge, the button is here just for you


	20. Working

Author's Note: First of all, thank you to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. I really do appreciate it. Secondly, can we just pause for a moment and notice that only about 24 hours has passed between updates? I mean, seriously, aren't you all proud of me:-) I had some free time today, so I thought about doing the massive amount of editing that is waiting for me for my poetry classes (can I get a collective yuck?) and then I decided hey, it would be fun to just write fanfiction, especially considering that it won't help me graduate... :-) So, here you go. Once again, not proofread. I think I'm just to lazy for it now. Okay, I'll let you read.

* * *

At eight o'clock that night, Temperance was still working with the remains that Booth had brought her that morning. Angela had left at six thirty and she had let Zach leave at seven, making Temperance the last person left in the lab. She straightened her spine and stretched; after eight hours of leaning over the examination table, her body was beginning to protest. She sighed and covered the remains before snapping off her latex gloves and dropping them in the bio-waste bin on her way to her office. 

Maybe it was weird, but Temperance liked being in the Jeffersonian alone late at night. The hallways were quiet, and as she walked she could hear the idle hums of computers and other equipment. Everything was still. She rotated her head from side to side as she approached her door. Being alone in the lab always made her feel like she had room to breathe, room to think. Praying that this would help with the creative process, she slid out of her lab coat and hung it on the rack before slipping into her chair and clearing the screen saver. She loaded the small amount of work she had done on her book onto her screen and took a deep breath, fingers hovering over the keys, willing the words to come to mind.

"Dammit," she muttered five minutes later. The blinking cursor seemed to mock her, and she suddenly felt irrationally resentful of the fictional characters in her story. Why couldn't she write anymore? She had felt completely blocked ever since this case started. She _never_ felt blocked. Sure, sometimes her writing wasn't particularly good or inspired, but getting something on the page had never been her problem. She hated that it was a problem now.

Admitting defeat, if only to herself, she clicked out of the program and walked over to the stack of books she had convinced Hodgins to pick up for her on his lunch hour. The glossy new covers of the Ophelia Stone novels glared up at her as she approached.

"Alright," she said out loud, even though she was alone. "Let's find the plot line for the new body."

She began flipping through the books, reading the back covers and skimming through the chapters, looking for the sections of the story that outlined the victims. She saw the now familiar stories along the way—the man in the grave, the woman in the river—and she even caught herself drifting off into the stories now and then. The smell of clean pages drifted from between the cheaply illustrated paperback covers, snaking into her nostrils and filtering into her mind. She loved the smell of new books. It was so fresh, so pure, so unsullied…how ironic, given the subject matter of the books.

An hour later, however, she was failing to find the connections between the books and the body that Booth had brought her. With a sigh, she dropped the book she had been flipping through and reached for a new one. As she did so, she heard the faint sound of shoes approaching her door, and then soft knocking. She glanced up to find Booth standing in her doorway, looking tired and disheveled.

"Hey, Bones."

"Hey. Anything?"

"We got jurisdiction, but the local police gave us hell." He waved a file at her before lying on her desk. "These are copies of some of the crime scene photos of your apartment, I thought you might want to look them over." He nodded towards the books that now lay strewn about. "What have you found?"

She let the book in her hands flip closed. "The skull from my apartment definitely goes with the body. It's male, like I originally thought, in the age range of 18-25. He was about 6 feet tall."

"Cause of death?"

"We sent for a toxicology report. It's not technically my specialty, but the lining of his stomach was somewhat eroded."

"He was poisoned?"

"I can't say for sure, but it seems likely right now. He did suffer blunt force trauma to the head, though, not enough to kill him, but enough to knock him unconscious. He was probably given the poisons after he was out."

Booth shook his head. "Poisoning, stabbing, drowning…this guy just can't seem to pick a method, can he?"

The two were quiet for a moment before Booth nodded toward the books again. "Found a match?"

Temperance shook her head. "No, nothing even remotely like this."

"Well, we definitely know it's related, given the state of your house…maybe he got tired of the Ophelia thing, ya know? I mean, these crazies," he whistled slightly, shaking his head, "they aren't exactly playing with a full deck."

"The victims don't seem to follow distinct patterns either, aside from the novels."

They were silent for another moment, both thinking.

"Have you talked to Ophelia? I mean, she must have written some short stories or stuff like that for minor publication. If this guy really has a fetish for her, he might be acting out on something of hers that's more esoteric than the novels."

Temperance nodded. "I'll call her tomorrow."

Booth nodded back. "Good."

Another moment of quiet ensued, more uncomfortable than the one preceding it.

"So…" Booth said.

Temperance just glanced up at him.

"Look, about the other night…"

Temperance groaned. "Look, Booth, don't worry about it. I understand."

He looked at her for a moment, assessing her statement.

"Really," she added. "You were just being a nice guy. Thank you for not trying to take advantage of me."

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Yeah, I was. So…so are we…okay?"

She forced a smile. "Sure. We're okay."

"Okay," he said nodding, forcing a smile back. "Okay…well, I going to go…"

"Yeah," Temperance answered. "It's late. Have a good night."

"You too," he said back. They gave each other another round of tense smiles. "Okay, well…night, Bones."

"Night."

Booth turned and walked out of her office then, heading back towards the parking lot and his car. His face fell as soon as he reached the doors of the Jeffersonian, just as Temperance's face fell after he closed the door of her office. _Things aren't okay_ they both realized. _Things really aren't okay.

* * *

_

Temperance let herself into Angela's apartment with the key her friend had given her at 11:30 that night. She was tired from the day, but she did her best to move around quietly, acutely aware of the fact that Angela was already asleep. Temperance washed her face quickly and slipped into a grey tee shirt and a pair of over-worn gym shorts. She then lifted the folded blanket off the back of the couch, cocooned herself in the soft green fabric, and quickly drifted to sleep.

_She was standing in the middle of a large and busy shopping mall. Temperance looked at her hands and saw that she was already holding two heavy department store bags. Her arms twitched under the weight, and for a moment she wondered if she would be able to walk while carrying them. As she was thinking over this problem, she looked up and saw a woman standing a few feet in front of her. Her back was turned toward Temperance, but something about her got Temperance's attention. While all the other people in the mall were moving around quickly, seeming to take no notice of Temperance and her shopping bag problem, this woman was standing perfectly still. For a moment, Temperance wondered if she was even breathing._

_The woman, as if sensing Temperance's stare, turned slowly, until their eyes met. Now it was Temperance who couldn't breathe. She was looking at her mother._

_Temperance tried to release the bags in her hands, but it was as if the handles were stuck to her skin. She tried to shuffle toward her mother in spite of the weight, however she was dismayed to find that with each step she took, it was as if her mother took one step back. She was unable to get any closer._

_She felt the strong urge to shout 'Mommy!' despite the fact that she had been fifteen when her mother left, and had stopped referring to her mother as 'mommy' when she was eight. Her mother smiled at her, as if she had heard what Temperance had wanted to say in spite of the fact that she hadn't actually said anything._

"_Osman," her mother said, with a knowing smile. _

'_What?' Temperance thought. 'I don't understand.'_

"_Her name is Cindy Osman," her mother answered._

'_But I know that,' Temperance thought back. 'We know that already.'_

_As Temperance continued to look at her mother, the face morphed into Angela. The change was barely registered in Temperance's consciousness._

"_Osman, Osman, she will never guess that Rumpelstiltskin is my name!" Angela sing-songed the pseudo-nursery rhyme in Temperance's direction._

'_But what does it mean?' Temperance thought back._

_Now Angela's face was replaced once again by Temperance's mother. "It means there are three days."_

'_Three days?'_

"_Three messages. Three chances. I have three days to guess your name."_

'_Or what?'_

_Now Angela was standing beside Temperance's mother, and the two were speaking in unison. "Or you'll kill my baby."_

_The shopping mall suddenly grew dark, and Temperance was vaguely aware of the fact that there were no longer people milling around. The two women staring at Temperance smiled and faded into the darkness without another word. _

"_Save them." Temperance heard the words, though they seemed to come out of nowhere. Then, as Temperance was looking straight ahead, she saw Hodgins run into her field of vision. She wanted to yell to him, but once again found herself unable. In the next second, however, she saw Booth run up behind him and quickly shoot him in the temple._

"_NO!" Temperance screamed, her voice suddenly back._

_Booth turned and looked at her. "You aren't safe."_

_Reeling from the sight of Hodgins' body on the floor, Temperance was unable to do anything but cry._

_Booth was standing close in front of her now. "They'll see what you did."_

_Temperance looked down and saw the blood covering her hands. It seemed to be crawling over her skin on its own. She then looked in her shopping bags, finding the gun in one, and Hodgins' head staring up at her from the other._

_Booth was at her side now, his hot breath whispering in her ears. "Hell doesn't fear you, Temperance…" he hissed her name, and she felt herself begin to scream again as he relentless said her name over and over. "Temperance…Temperance…Temperance…"_

"Temperance!"

Angela's shouting and shaking jolted Temperance out of her nightmare. Still dazed and confused from the dream, Temperance lunged into an upright position, vaguely noticing how cold the air felt on her tear-stained cheeks. Her breath came out in hard, shallow gasps.

"Sweetie, wake up, wake up! It's just me!"

Temperance was still breathing quickly as reality broke over her. The couch. Her shoes near the doorway. The lamp that was left on in the kitchen. Angela's face. She was at Angela's house. Her breathing slowly began to calm.

Angela stared at her friend with scared and concerned eyes. "You were crying in your sleep, and screaming…honey, what's wrong?"

"Just…just a…bad dream," Temperance stuttered out. She was awake enough now to notice the rumpled state of Angela's hair, to see the faint red mark on her friend's cheek from where she had been leaning on her pillow, sleeping.

"I gathered that." Angela gave Temperance a once over with concerned eyes. "What was it about?"

Temperance shook her head. "Nothing, it was stupid."

"Didn't sound stupid."

"Just…stuff from the case. It's just on my mind."

This statement gave Angela pause. "You're having nightmares about the case?"

"No, just…a little."

"How long has this been going on?"

Tired, Temperance answered virtually without thinking. "How long has the case been going on?"

"Wait, you're telling me you've been having these dreams throughout this entire case? Have you slept at all?"

Temperance shrugged. "I'm fine."

"What happens in these dreams?"

_I kill people. Usually you._ "I don't know, they don't really make sense. I guess there isn't a real reason why they should bother me, actually, it's just that when you're tired you're mind can play tricks on you."

Angela looked at her skeptically.

Temperance glanced around the apartment. "What time is it?"

"A little after three."

"You shouldn't be up."

Angela continued to survey Temperance.

"Seriously, Ange, I'm fine. You need to go to bed. We both need to go to bed." She gave Angela a reassuring smile, and after a few moments, Angela relented with a nod. The two bid one another goodnight, but only after Angela had made Temperance swear that she was fine. Angela and Temperance then laid back down, Angela on her bed and Temperance on Angela's couch. Angela was asleep within ten minutes. Temperance stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night.

* * *

Temperance was feeling tired and irritable the next day at work, though she did her best not to show it by doing work in her office. At ten o'clock, she decided to call Ophelia. 

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ophelia, it's Temperance."

"Oh, hello, Temperance, how's the case going?'

"We're looking into some new leads. Actually, I wanted to call you about something. We have reason to believe that we have a new victim, however the individual doesn't seem to fit in with any of your books, which is unusual in this instance."

"Oh, I see. Well, maybe this victim isn't from the same killer?"

"It seems unlikely. The main reason I'm calling is to find out if perhaps this victim fits in with a fictional victim from one of your stories that we don't have. Perhaps one that was published in a magazine as a short story? Or maybe one that's out of print?"

"It's possible, I have two books that have gone out of print, and I did publish a few short stories before I started writing complete novels."

"Did you ever write a story in which a victim was decapitated?"

Ophelia was quiet for a moment, thinking. "No, not that I can think of. I did write a story in which a victim was hung."

"No, that doesn't match with our information."

"Oh. I'm sorry then, no, I haven't published a victim like that. It's strange that you should bring it up, though."

"Strange?"

"Well, just because before you called I was on the phone with my editor. I just sent him a first draft of a book in which a victim is poisoned and decapitated."

"Poisoned?"

"Yes, that's what actually kills the man, but the killer decapitates the man and sends the head to his ex-girlfriend. The victim was dating the killer's ex."

Temperance was quiet for a moment, to shocked to respond. "Has anyone read this book yet?"

"Just Danny. He's my editor. But other than that, no. Like I said, I only have a first draft."

"How long ago did your editor get the draft?"

"Only a few days ago, but he knew the general points of the story before I sent it to him. We're good friends, and I often bounce new ideas off of him. He's the one who actually suggested the poisoning, said it made it more sensational."

"It certainly does," Temperance responded, trying to keep her tone neutral. "Do you have another copy of the manuscript?"

"Sure," Ophelia answered. "It actually mostly on my computer, but I can print out another copy if you want."

"That would be great."

"Okay. I would let you come get it today, but I have an appointment. Can you come by tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow would be perfect. Thank you so much, Ophelia."

"Anything to help. Talk to you later, Temperance."

When Temperance hung up the phone, her mind was reeling. The murder matched one from a story that wasn't _published_ yet? How was this possible? Her thoughts ran back and forth over the case as she absentmindedly picked up the file that Booth had left the night before. She dumped the photos onto her desk and began to flip through them.

She paused when she came to the picture of the writing on her wall. _hEll haS no FearS of YOU, TEmperAnce bReNnAn. _Her mind was momentarily brought back to her dream the night before, and she shivered slightly. She rested the photo on her desk, and then reached into her top side drawer, where she pulled out the copies of the other notes the killer had sent. She stretched them out before her. _Come on_ she said to herself. _Figure this out._

_

* * *

_

Reviews are welcome at this point in the story


	21. Interpersonal Meetings

Author's Note: First off, thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter. Seriously, I do love to hear what you guys are thinking, and if you think I'm straying to far from the TV show, or if the storyline is bothering you, or anything like that, I encourage you to tell me. Okay, now, about this chapter...I first want to warn you that there is some bad language in this chapter, worse than usual. I'm sorry about that, but it's a part of the dialogue, and that just happens to be how the character(s) would talk. Hope no one is too offended. I don't think there's much you need to know on this one. Well, there might be, but I can't think of what it would be. Oh, one thing...there is a section of dialogue in this chapter between Booth and Angela, and just as a fun fact, I was toying for a while with the idea of making Booth the father of Angela's baby, but I thought people would freak out...maybe I'll do that in another story :-) Not proofread, I'm far to lazy. Reviews will be accepted at the end, please no flash photography, and off you go

* * *

While Temperance struggled to find the meaning hidden in the notes, Booth was across town struggling on his own to piece together information for the case. Sitting in his office, he scratched the back of his neck and then took a large gulp of now cool coffee. He glanced at the clock. It was 12:34, and by all accounts he should be at lunch right now. With a huffed sigh, he pushed himself up from his chair and headed out his office door.

He had spent his entire morning questioning the suspects for the Ophelia Stone case. First on his list that morning had been Sal Mongellio. Mongellio had been dressed in a wife-beater, the ribbed fabric of which had been stretched to its limit over the man's overly-muscled chest. He had worn ratty jeans, a large silver chain, a black leather jacket, and a Yankees baseball hat. As if the wardrobe weren't enough, Mongellio spoke in a thick Brooklyn accent and stared at Booth throughout the entire interview with bored and disdainful eyes. By the end of the interview, Booth had had the strong urge to punch him in the mouth, his mind yelling _yeah, I get it, kid, you're a hard ass. But, people are _dead_, and I'm not in the mood to play._

Booth thought over this strong reaction after he left the room, and vaguely realized that maybe his problems with Temperance were affecting him more than he originally thought. The realization just made his mood more sour.

Overall, Mongellio hadn't yielded many results, but he gave Booth an uneasy feeling.

"Did you ever stalk Ophelia Stone?" Booth had asked at one point in the interview.

"Fuck, man, I ain't never fuckin' stalked nobody. I ain't no pussy assed shit goin' round peepin' on anybody. I got business, I fuckin' _handle_ it, you feel me?"

The rest of the interview had taken much of the same tone. After Booth was finished, he had Mongellio held for further questioning that afternoon. He didn't know what he wanted to ask him, but the thought that he was inconveniencing the man made him feel better.

Next on the agenda had been Haley Stone. The first thing Booth noticed about her was that she looked nothing like her mother. Temperance would have been identified as being Ophelia's blood faster than this haggard looking girl with brown eyes and greasy dirty-blond hair. She smelled strongly of cigarette smoke, and as Booth sat down he would have sworn that he also caught the faint scent of weed. Her eyes were sunken, complete with deep purple circles, and her skin was sickly and aged far beyond its years.

She had seemed vague and disconnected during the interview, adding to Booth's feeling that she was high. Although she wasn't helping him yield many results, however, Booth felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. She looked so…_lost_.

"What can you tell me about your parents, Haley?"

"Which ones?" Haley had asked with a bitter laugh. "The two who fucked or the two who were too high to care if I ate?"

"Biological parents."

Haley rolled her eyes. "My mom was some schizoid weirdo and my dad was some kind of pervert who jumped her during a dentist's appointment or something. I don't know, ain't many people lookin' to take me to reunions."

The answer pained Booth, and he silently reminded himself to call Parker later that day.

"What is the nature of your relationship with Salvador Mongellio?"

Haley shrugged. "He's got blow."

And now, Booth was walking down the hall on his way to his third interview of the day. Theodore Lyle, Haley's biological father. After seeing how screwed up his daughter was, Booth was already feeling contempt for the man.

When Booth entered the room, Theodore Lyle looked up and Booth could see genuine concern in his eyes. He was an average looking man, with average and forgettable features. He wore simple, understated glasses, a basic polo shirt, and plain jeans. He would make a good movie extra, Booth realized. The kind of person who just easily moves into the scenery.

The interview began, and Booth quickly found Lyle to be somewhat soft-spoken, but articulate. _He probably made a great therapist_ Booth thought. He felt himself calming down from the stress of the day even as the interview surged on.

By the time Booth reached the questions pertaining to Haley Stone, Lyle regarded him with a shocked look.

"Ophelia had a daughter?"

Booth gave him a slightly confused looked. "Yeah, _your_ daughter."

Lyle sat back, apparently too shocked to answer. "She…I had no idea. I have a daughter? Where is she? What happened to her?"

"She was placed in the foster care system."

Lyle looked pained. "I didn't know…"

After that point in the conversation, progress more or less slowed to a halt. Booth told the man he would give him some time alone with his thoughts and excused himself, leaving all three of his interviewees in their rooms.

He returned to his office once again and sat down with a huffed sigh. He rubbed his temples, willing the headache that was fast creeping up on him to go away. He glanced down at his phone and saw the light blinking. He pressed the button to listen to the messages.

"Booth, it's me." Temperance's voice. "I just talked to Ophelia, and I think we have another lead. Call me back." He heard a faint hesitation on the line, a small moment when he thought she wanted to say something else. A half a second later, however, the message ended as she hung up the phone.

The next message followed quickly. "Booth, it's Angela. I wanted to talk to you about something, if you have time. Give me a call, okay?" Angela's message clicked off quickly.

Not ready to call Temperance, Booth dialed the number to Angela's office. She answered on the third ring.

"Angela Montenegro," the voice was cool and professional.

"Hey, Angela, it's Booth."

"Oh, hey, Booth," she responded, her voice immediately returning to a casual, friendly tone.

"I got your message. What's going on?"

"I just wanted to talk to you later, if you have some time, not about the case. Maybe we could get some dinner if you have time?"

For a moment Booth felt strange. He had never really hung with Angela alone, only in a group. Really only when Temperance was around. "Yeah, sure, that sounds okay…" Booth answered, looking at his watch. "How does 6 sound?"

"Sounds perfect," Angela answered. They worked out a place to meet and hung up the phone.

Gathering his courage, Booth called Temperance next.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Bones, got your message, what's up?"

"I spoke to Ophelia this morning and she told me that our victim matches one that is in a book which hasn't been published yet. The only one who's read the manuscript so far is her editor…" Booth heard Temperance ruffling through papers on her desk. "…Danny Roslynn."

"Wow, great work, Bones. I have him picked up and brought in."

The two shared an awkward silent moment.

"So…good," Temperance said.

"Yeah."

Sitting silent again, Temperance and Booth couldn't help but remember how it had been. At the beginning of the case, how they spoke so easily with one another…Temperance remembered the languid pointless conversations the two had shared, how Booth had told her about Parker's future job ambitions…

Eventually the silence stretched awkwardly long, and Booth broke it. "Okay, well, I'll talk to you later, then."

"Right. Bye."

They hung up the phone.

* * *

Booth had Danny Roslynn brought in that afternoon, making him Booth's final interview before meeting Angela. The man was fidgety and acted agitated, behaviors which instantly flagged in Booth's mind. For the most part the man avoided Booth's questions, and by the time the interview was over, Booth felt uneasy. By the time 5:45 rolled around, Booth told Roslynn that they were done for the day, but informed him that he would be coming back the next day for further interviewing.

Booth gathered his things and headed for the parking lot. He unlocked his car and settled into the driver's seat, letting the heater blow cold air on his legs as the engine warmed up. He closed his eyes for a moment while he waited for his car to warm up enough to pull off, and he let his mind wander over the suspects in the case. He had not only told Roslynn he would be back the next day, but he had recalled Mongellio and Haley as well. In Booth's opinion Lyle had issues, but he wasn't a killer.

When the gauge of Booth's car had moved into a comfortable position, Booth put the car in drive and pulled out of his parking spot, turning to go on the highway so he could meet Angela.

He couldn't keep his thoughts off the case as he drove. Mongellio had made him uneasy. He obviously felt no need to hide the fact that he was violent, which in a sense made Booth feel better; if the man really was the killer, he probably would have tried to conceal it a bit more. Haley was a possibility as well; she was lost and apathetic toward life, and based on her previous record, murder was about the only thing she _hadn't_ been convicted of. Roslynn gave Booth the creeps as well.

Booth saw Angela's car when he pulled up at the restaurant, so he quickly parked his SUV, locked the doors, and tucked the keys into his pocket. He walked in and found that Angela already had a table.

"Hey, Booth," she said as he approached and sat down.

"Angela, you're looking lovely this evening," Booth said with a charm smile.

Angela laughed. "Yeah, sure, I have that glow, right?"

Booth gave her a strange look. "Glow?"

Angela looked at him for a moment before her brain caught up. "Oh, right, you haven't heard." She tossed her hands out in a mock _ta-da!_ gesture. "I'm pregnant."

Booth looked surprised. "You're pregnant?"

Angela nodded, sipping her water. "Yeah, but don't dwell. We'll get to that."

Booth gave her a look as the waiter approached. The two glanced quickly at the menus and placed their orders. When the man left the table, the two returned their attention to one another and Angela spoke again.

"The first thing I wanted to talk to you about was Tempe."

Booth swallowed a gulp of his water.

"Look, I know what happened."

"I figured."

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm talking about."

Booth glanced back up at her and saw genuine concern in her eyes.

"I'm worried about her. She's been staying with me since the break-in, and last night…well, she had some kind of a nightmare. I heard her and went into the living room and she was crying and shouting…"

Booth looked momentarily surprised, his mind returning to the night when he had broken into Temperance's apartment, how she had been nearly hysterical when he got there. "She's still having nightmares?"

"You knew?"

"Well, no, I knew she had one or two…I happened to get there one night when she was shouting, too. Could you hear what she was saying?"

Angela shifted in her seat. "Yeah…some of it anyway. She was screaming 'no,' and then I hear her say…something about you."

"Me?"

"She screamed 'Mommy.' That's what woke me up. Then she yelled my name, and then yours. She said your name, like, three times, I think. Then she screamed 'Hodgins,' and 'no, no, no.' Then she was just crying until I woke her up."

"Mommy?"

Angela nodded.

"Would she tell you what the dream was about?"

Angela shook her head. "She just kept saying it was no big deal, but it really scared me. I'd never seen her like that."

Booth remembered the disconcerting feeling he had had when he broke into Temperance's apartment during her nightmare.

"How long has this been going on?"

"She told me she'd been having dreams about the case since it started."

Booth looked shocked again. "They deal with the case? She hasn't been sleeping all this time?"

Angela nodded. "I'm scared. This isn't healthy. She needs a break or something…I mean, this isn't her. She needs to get away."

Booth nodded his agreement, unsure of what to say.

Angela reached across the table and rested her hand on Booth's. "Look, I know it's weird between you guys right now, but I need you to help me with this. All things aside, she's our friend, and we need to help her."

"Absolutely."

"So what can we do?"

Neither knew. While they were thinking, their food arrived and they began eating.

"What did she say when she woke up when you were there?" Angela asked.

"She was terrified. I don't think she even knew who I was at first. She was just crying, saying that I had…died, right in front of her. Then she was saying that you weren't okay, and she kept looking at her hands, and she kept trying to hide them."

Angela, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the thought that Temperance had dreamed about something bad happening to her, looked up in surprise when Booth mentioned Temperance's hands. "Hands…that was another thing. When I woke her up the first thing she did was stick her hands under her back. It was like she was hiding them. She finally pulled them out before I went back to bed, but now that you mention it, I don't know that she ever looked at them."

"So, what does that mean?"

Angela shrugged. "It must mean _something_."

They were quiet for a moment, thinking. "Maybe it's a Macbeth thing."

Angela looked up. "Macbeth?"

Booth shrugged. "I don't know. If these dreams are dealing with the case, it might have something to do with Macbeth. I mean, when we got the first note, Temperance compared it to Hamlet. It's a stretch but…I don't know."

Angela nodded, and another long silence ensued.

"So…you're pregnant?"

Angela looked up and smiled. "Um, yeah. I guess no one told you about that yet."

"Who's the father?"

"Jack."

"Hodgins?"

Angela nodded.

Booth nodded back. "How do you feel about that?"

Angela sighed. "Completely freaked out. I know it might seem weird, but I was wondering if I could, you know…talk to you about it a little? I mean, where you have a son and everything…"

Booth smiled, feeling slightly touched. "Sure, Angela."

Angela smiled back, relieved.

"When Rebecca told me she was pregnant…I was scared, too."

"You were?"

"Of course I was. Everyone is."

"What if I'm no good at this? I mean, it's one thing to screw up my own life, but a baby's?"

Booth smiled. "You're going to be fine, Angela. When the baby gets here, you'll figure it out."

"What if I don't?"

"You will. Trust me. I felt the same way you did before Parker was born. I even threw up on my way to the hospital."

"You did?"

"Well, yeah, but don't spread it around."

Angela smiled, and Booth continued. "After he was born the nurses brought him in and handed him to Rebecca. And I was scarred to death, because he was right in front of me, and I still didn't have any idea what to do. I mean, he was _there_, and I still didn't know how to be a dad. But then…" Booth smiled widely as he remembered, "then she handed him to me. And he was just so small, right there in my arms. His little head just fit in the palm of my hand, and he was wriggling his little legs…and he was this whole little person, with fingernails, and toes…and it was the most amazing moment. And he yawned and stretched his arms…and I knew."

"Knew what?"

"I was a dad. It was just so clear, I didn't know why I had been so scared. I was a _dad_. I mean, it's not like I knew right then how do everything, but at that moment I knew I'd figure it out. I'd do whatever it took to figure it out."

Angela nodded, feeling warmed by Booth's memory.

"You're going to be amazing, Angela. You're warm, you're loving…that's a very lucky kid."

Angela smiled gratefully. "It's just so…"

"Terrifying?"

Angela smiled and nodded.

"Of course it is. And that's okay. It'll always be terrifying." Booth smiled again. "But it's a wonderful kind of terror."

Angela smiled again. "Thank you, Booth."

"So, how's Hodgins taking it?"

Angela sighed. "Well, better than I did, I guess."

Booth nodded. "He's scared, too, you know."

"I know."

Booth nodded.

The waiter came back then and cleared their now empty plates. Booth paid the check, saying it was his congratulations to her, and the two stood up and prepared to leave. They headed to their cars, the night air nipping at their skin as they went.

"Thanks again, Booth," Angela said.

Booth gave her a lazy smile. "Sure."

"So, you'll think about what we can do for Temperance?'

Booth nodded.

"Okay. I guess I'll see you later then."

"Okay. Night, Angela, and congratulations again."

"Thanks."

And with that, the two got in their cars and left the restaurant.

* * *

Here's the button if you want it


	22. Human Connection

Author's Note: First of all, thank you, as always, to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. It's always encouraging to hear from you guys, it makes me want to post more. Now, as far as this chapter, let me start by apologizing slightly...the writing in this isn't that great in the sense that I jump back and forth in time a little bit depending on the characters I'm talking about. It shouldn't be terribly confusing...if it is, I apologize...and I know this is something that I could have fixed, but honestly I'm just tired. Oh, not proofread...I've decided that that's my new artistic signature...work in its most raw, pure form...yeah, that sounds good... :-) Okay, that pretty much it. Good news! No wildly over the top bad language in this chapter! Well, at least I don't think there is. But then again, I have been up for 20 hours and I just wrote one paper on why it's unethical to kill people for fun and another short story about a guy whose wife left him...so it's hard to know what this says. Anyway...have fun with that :-)

* * *

While Angela and Booth were having dinner, Temperance was still in her office, working on the notes that had been left by the killer, re-reading sections of Ophelia's books, and studying photos. She had been working for hours, and by this time her eyes were drooping and tired. She read the notes and looked at the images in theory only; none of what she took in was really penetrating her mind anymore. Her head felt unnaturally heavy, and all she could think was _God, I want to sleep_. However, every time she rested her head on her desk, closed her eyes, and began to drift off, she would see the fragmented images of death friends, shouts that it was her fault, and blood, blood, blood everywhere.

Zach stepped into her office at about 7:00, starling her out of yet another pre-dozing stupor.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Temperance jumped slightly, waking. "Zach. Yes. What can I help you with?"

He regarded her with a critical look. "I've been working on those bones like you asked, but I think I'm finished with them for the night. I wanted to know if there was anything else you wanted me to do?"

"No, nothing, Zach. You can go home. Thanks for working on those bones."

"Of course, Dr. Brennan." Zach gave her a small smile before turning slightly, preparing to head out of her office. When he turned, Temperance saw the blood dripping from the shimmering red icicle that was stuck in his back.

"Zach!"

He turned back to her and smiled, nodded, and turned once again to leave as Temperance woke with a start.

"Dr. Brennan?" Zach was standing in front of her desk, looking at her with apparent concern.

"Zach!"

"Did you call me?"

Temperance's mind ran back to the dream, and it took her a moment to confirm that what she was seeing was actually real. "No…I mean, I didn't mean to."

"Oh. Well, I'm getting ready to leave for the night."

Temperance nodded, and Zach turned to leave. Temperance cringed as he did so until she saw that there was nothing sticking from his back. "Zach?" she called before he was all the way out her door.

He turned back. "Yes?"

"I actually do have something for you, if you would be willing to work on it."

Zach stepped back into Temperance's office, awaiting her continuation.

Temperance stacked the Ophelia Stone notes. "I've been over these and over these…would you mind taking them home with you and looking over them? Maybe fresh eyes will see something that I don't."

Zach looked surprised but immeasurably pleased by the assignment. "Absolutely," he answered, gathering the papers. He couldn't help but smile slightly. She was trusting _him_ to help solve the case!

He carefully arranged the sheets in his hands so that he wouldn't bend them.

"Thanks, Zach. I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled. "See you tomorrow."

After Zach walked out of her office, Temperance laid her head on her desk again. _I'll just sleep for a minute_ she thought. _It won't happen this time…_

* * *

After leaving her dinner with Booth, Angela sat behind the wheel of her car, aimlessly driving down the D.C. streets. She didn't really feel like going home, for the first time in weeks she actually felt awake (which might have been due to the fact that she took a nap during lunch), so she instead continued to listen to the car radio as she absentmindedly gazed at the blinking street lights and swaying headlights.

She wasn't paying a lot of attention as she drove, at least not consciously, however a short time later she found that she was half way to Hodgins' house. Her mind hesitated for a moment; if she wanted to actually go to his house, she needed to turn onto the next street. _Time to grow up, Ange_ she whispered in her mind. She flipped on the blinker and turned.

Her car glided up to Hodgins' house a short while later. She parked and killed the lights, twisting the keys between her fingers after she pulled them out of the ignition. What was she supposed to say to him? She sighed, and pushed open the door. She walked up to the house tentatively and rang the bell. It was answered a few moments later.

"Yes?"

"Hi, is, uh, is Jack…home?"

The woman gave Angela a kind smile. "I'm sorry, but Jack is out for the evening. If you would like to give me your name, I'd be happy to tell him you stopped by. Perhaps there is number that you could leave so he could contact you?'

Angela smiled slightly. Only Hodgins would hire people and then insist that they refer to him by his first name. "No, that's alright. I'll just see him later. Thanks."

The woman smiled again and nodded, waiting to close the door until Angela was halfway back to her car. She slid back behind the wheel, the interior still warm from the drive over, and sighed again. She felt a pang of relief. She knew she had to talk to him, but the fact was she didn't know what to say. She was certain that she had never been this unsure of herself in her entire life. She put her car in reverse and pulled away.

Gas was too expensive to be wasted on her boredom, so she decided to head back home. She got there quickly, the familiarity of the drive making it seem faster that it actually was. She didn't pay attention to the other cars as she parked her own and climbed out. She headed toward her building, went inside, and then up to her apartment. Then, walking down the hall to her apartment, she saw Hodgins sitting by the door. He didn't see her right away, and she took a moment to look at him. He had a determined look on his face. His hair was mussed, and he was sitting with his knees up, his arms resting across them. He was so still, so resolute…and she smiled. She actually smiled. For a brief moment, despite the fact that her life was on the cusp of being something completely new…she felt safe. For some odd reason seeing her sitting by the door caused her mind to say _see? It's going to be okay. Everything really can be okay._

"Hey, Jack, what are you…"

"I want to talk to you," he cut her off.

Momentarily surprised, she stood quietly.

"Look, I know you're scared, okay? Hell, I'm scared, but that's no reason to cut me out of all this. Now, like it or not, that's my baby, too, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be involved just because we weren't expecting this."

"Jack…"

"No! This is not up discussion. It's just as much mine as it is yours. And…"

"I know that, Jack."

"Yeah, well, the point _I'm _making here is…"

"I want you to be involved, too."

Hodgins took a breath, halting his rant. "Really?"

She smiled. "Of course I do."

"But…but before…?"

"I know. I'm sorry about before. But just because I don't quite know how to handle this yet…that doesn't mean I don't want you to be a part of this." She shrugged. "You _are_ a part of this."

Hodgins shifted his weight on his feet. "So, what does this mean?"

She reached out and took his hand. "It means we're friends. I trust you. And even though this wasn't in either of our plans…since it happened, I'm glad it happened with you. I'm glad that I know the father of my baby is a good man."

Hodgins smiled. "So…"

"So."

He nodded and looked down at their fingers, still locked together. "Have you seen a doctor yet?"

She nodded. "A few days ago."

"Did they do a sonogram?"

She nodded again, smiling.

"Can I see the picture?"

She released his hand and unlocked the door, letting them both in. Once inside she walked to her bedroom and pulled out her journal. Flipping to the center, she carefully picked up the sonogram picture and walked back to the living room. Hodgins was sitting on the couch.

She saw down beside him and he gingerly took the picture from her hands. He held it between them and they both looked at it.

"Wow," he said, his voice quiet.

She nodded. "Yeah."

They leaned back on the couch, Hodgins still looking at the blurry picture. The baby was barely discernable, but they were both captivated by the sight.

He looked at her with a soft, small smile. "That's our baby."

She nodded, as he continued to stare that the grainy peanut-shaped image. She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes beginning to feel heavy once again. "Yeah," she said. "That's our baby."

* * *

Booth drove to the Jeffersonian after his dinner with Angela. As he suspected, Temperance's car was still there, so he parked his SUV and headed inside. He approached her door which was partially open and as about to knock softly when he caught a glimpse inside and saw that she was asleep on her desk, a slightly pained expression on her face. He felt his heart sink slightly.

He knocked softly and walked in. The noise was enough to rouse her, and she sat up fairly quickly, her motion almost looking like that of a teenager who has been caught sleeping in math class.

"Hey, Bones," he said as she registered his presence. "Burning the midnight oil?"

"Booth…I was just…resting my eyes."

"Uh-huh," he said, dropping onto her couch.

She looked at him for a moment, her brain clearing. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I came by to see you."

She regarded him silently for a moment. She felt the tinge of awkwardness that had permeated all of their dealings sparking up again, however her current state of exhaustion effectively kept it at bay. She noted Booth's collar, which was slightly flipped up on one side from where he had removed his tie, and took in his weary expression, noting that his uneasiness was losing to tiredness as well.

"Shouldn't you leave and go get some sleep?" he asked.

She shrugged, straightening some papers on her desk. "I will, I just had a few things I wanted to finish up before I left."

He chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

She turned her attention back to him. "What?'

"Nothing," he said with a lazy, amused smile. "It's just…do you even know what time it is, Bones?"

"It's just a few things. I'll leave soon."

He shook his head, his expression slowly morphing from amused to serious and calm. "Why didn't you tell me that the case was affecting you this much?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I talked to Angela."

Temperance looked back at her desk. "It was a bad dream. That's it. Everyone has bad dreams once in while, it's a normal neurological response to daily stress, or unpleasant events."

He shook his head. "It's more than that. You're exhausted. You aren't sleeping."

"That's not true."

"Fine. Tell me the last time you sleep through an entire night without having a nightmare."

She picked up two stray pens and pushed them back into her drawer.

"What happens in the dreams, Bones?"

She glanced over at him. "What?"

"What happens? Tell me what happens."

She shook her head. "This is ridiculous. They're _dreams_. They aren't important."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell me, or…"

"Or what?"

He sighed. "Or I'm going to tell Goodman that I want you off this case."

She looked at him shocked. "What?"

"This isn't healthy. I can't let you continue in this investigation if I feel it jeopardizes your well-being. You're too valuable for that. I can't take that risk."

"You can't do that. What if more bodies are found? How will you…"

"Zach," Booth answered simply.

Temperance stared at him, aghast.

He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "So, are you going to tell me? Or am I going to call Goodman tomorrow?"

"That's blackmail."

"I'm not asking for much here, Bones. Just talk to me."

She reclined back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. A long silence stretched between them.

"Ya know, being a sniper, I've had my share of bad dreams, Bones. And with the work I do now…dealing with this stuff isn't easy. And with every bad thing that happens, you always wonder, could it have been different? And with what you do? With what you have to see?" He shook his head. "It's not a sign of weakness, Bones. Not many people are strong enough to do what you do. I mean, the most pleasant thing you can find is that someone died of natural causes." He shook his head. "The way I see it, the only way to deal with it, to survive all that, is to talk to someone. To let it out. I'm not asking you to bare your soul. Just…talk to me."

She sighed, pushing up from her chair. "They're just dreams."

"What happens in them?"

She was pacing slightly. She sighed again. "People die."

He nodded. "Okay. Who dies?"

Her back was to him, and her voice was low enough that he barely caught her words. "My friends."

"How do they die?"

Her exhaustion was making her feel weak and emotional, and when she turned back to Booth she cursed the fact that she could feel tears at the backs of her eyes. "I _really_ don't want to talk about this."

He sat silently, waiting. She sighed.

"Fine. I kill them. Okay? Happy? There it is." She turned back around and began straightening things on her bookshelf.

He was about to speak, but something in her stance stopped him. Something about the way her arms moved, the rigid line of her shoulders. He waited silently, waited for her to boil over.

She stopped straightening, resting her hands on the bookcase. Her voice was shaky. "It's always different. But everyone dies. I kill them all. Zach. Hodgins. Angela. The baby. You." She shook her head. "And all I can see is the blood, and then there are the screams, and it just won't stop…"

He was standing behind her now, and he could see the slight tremble in her body.

"I want it to stop," she whispered.

He reached out for her and turned her around, pulling her into a warm hug. He could feel her subtle shaking, and he held on tighter. She was tense at first, rigid. But then as, he held her, she began to relax. He tenderly touched her hair, felt the strands glide under his fingers, and discretely inhaled the soft scent that floated up to him from her.

Eventually they pulled back slightly into a loose embrace, and they looked each other in the eye. He rested a finger under her chin. "Thank you," he said quietly. He moved his thumb, tracing the trail of stray tear on her cheek, drying its path.

They stared at one another for a long moment. Finally, Booth leaned in and placed a quick, gentle kiss on her forehead. "You need to get some sleep. Some real sleep."

She looked down, nodding.

He raised her head so their eyes met again. "Why don't you stay at my apartment tonight? Just so I know you're okay."

"Booth…"

"Please. It'll make me feel better."

She hesitated a moment before nodding. "Alright…just let me call Angela."

"I already did. C'mon grab your stuff."

* * *

Temperance followed Booth to his building in her car and parked in a spot next to his. Once their cars were locked for the night, the two headed upstairs to Booth's apartment.

Booth unlocked the door and let them in, allowing Temperance to step in before him. "I have a tee shirt and some sweatpants if you want something to sleep in…" he offered as they dropped their keys onto a table near the door.

"Thanks," she said.

He gathered the appropriate items and then let her go into the bathroom to change. She did so quickly, immediately grateful that Booth's sweatpants had a drawstring. She stepped from the bathroom a short time later in the baggy clothes, and Booth stepped out of his bedroom to meet her.

"Okay, here you go," he said, pointing to the bed. He saw her slight hesitation and quickly added, "I'm going to sleep on the couch."

"I can't kick you out of your own bed, Booth."

"I insist. You need a good night's sleep. You aren't going to get that on a strange couch. Now, c'mon, get in, I'm tired and I want to get to bed myself."

With slight reluctance she relented and climbed in. Booth smiled and clicked off the light beside her head, leaving on a small dinosaur shaped nightlight that she assumed was Parker's. He smiled in the soft light, and quickly leaned down, giving her quick peck on the lips. "Night, Bones."

He retreated from the room then. When he was in the living room, she whispered into the darkness, "night, Booth," but it was too quiet for him to hear.

* * *

At 4:03am Temperance awoke with a violent start from yet another nightmare. She felt herself shaking from head to toe, her entire body bathed in sweat. She was panting slightly, but a soft snore from the living room informed her that she hadn't woken Booth up. She felt like she wanted to cry. She hated that she felt afraid. And yet, every time she tried to close her eyes, the images assaulted her again. Finally, she gave up. She stripped off Booth's clothes and pushed them into the basket in his bathroom, redressing in her own. She then tiptoed through the living room and scrawled a note, leaving it where her keys had been. It read:

_Booth:_

_Decided to get an early start at work. Thanks for letting me stay over._

_B_

She then quickly and quietly left the apartment and headed back to the Jeffersonian, where she showered quickly and, after realizing that she didn't have a full change of clothes, changed into a new shirt. At least the pants were black, no one would probably notice. Then, with a sigh, she went back to the work on her desk.

* * *

Your comments here


	23. Closing In

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! Okay...this chapter. First of all, I've been pretty much assuming that everyone has the case figured out. If you don't, this chapter will help you along. I'm not totally in love with the way I wrote it, but I think it's effective enough to tell this chapter of the story. Feel free to let me know what you think of it. I'm thinking I had something else to say, but I can't remember it right now. I'm sure it'll come to me as soon as I post this...oh well, if I think of it, I'll just tell you later on. :-) Okay, I'm done, go ahead and see what happens now...

* * *

Angela woke up slowly the next morning, her mind wrapped in slight foggy haze. She took a deep breath, and immediately found that her air was infused with the smell of Jack Hodgins. She lazily opened one eye, her mind instantly recalling the night before, and found that her gaze landed on the sonogram picture, which had been propped on the coffee table, directly in front of Hodgins and herself. She smiled slightly as she realized the position Hodgins was in: he had one arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close to him. His other hand was carefully resting on her stomach, the ends of his fingers curving ever so slightly, as if he were possessively protecting his baby. She could feel his short bursts of breath when he exhaled, the air making her hair move slightly when he did so. She snuggled slightly closer and took another deep breath.

Something about waking up this way made her feel comfortable. Safe. She knew their relationship had shifted the night before. They were in a better place now. But she hadn't been prepared for the relief she would feel when she and Hodgins finally started dealing with what was going on. It was as though someone had released the pressure from her body. She felt euphorically relaxed.

Hodgins began to rouse slightly. Angela tilted her head and looked up at him, meeting his eyes when he opened them.

"Morning," he mumbled, his voice deep and sleepy.

"Morning," she said back.

He yawned slightly. "What time is it?"

She shifted slightly and looked at her watch. "6:15."

"I guess we have to get up."

She groaned her protest in response, snuggling closer. "But I want to sleep."

He yawned again and moved slightly, stretching. "You should get the shower first. It's your house." He nestled back against the couch cushions.

"No way, you get the first shower. I insist. You're the guest."

He re-wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as he gave her stomach a soft rub. "Why don't we just both sleep for ten more minutes?"

Angela didn't answer. She had already drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Booth woke up far less gracefully.

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_ The alarm he had set the night before began going off in his ear at 6:35am, the noise of which caused him to awake with a start, and in the process fall off the couch.

With a frustrated swipe, he hit the button to turn off the offending alarm. He then hauled himself up off the floor, feeling already irritated by the fact that he had had such a rude awakening.

He shuffled to the kitchen and started the coffee. He then headed back out to wake Temperance up. As he passed through the living room, a small white note caught his eye.

_Booth:_

_Decided to get an early start at work. Thanks for letting me stay over._

_B_

He read the note twice before crumpling it up and tossing it toward the couch. He then began to shuffle toward the bathroom, mentally berating himself as he went. _Well done, Superman, you couldn't even get her through a night_.

* * *

At the Jeffersonian, Temperance was working on some of the back paperwork that had accumulated while she had been working on the Ophelia Stone case. She absentmindedly signed her name to the forms, her consciousness glazing over from lack of sleep and from frustration at the fact that, despite the hour she had spent trying, she hadn't been able to make any progress on her book. She wanted to crumple in the floor and cry. Well, actually she wanted to curl up on the couch and sleep, but she knew that if she did, she would be mentally tormented. She signed another paper. What was going on with her? She thought back to the night before with Booth. He had been right; this wasn't healthy. She was supposed to be stronger than this.

Her thoughts drifted. Why had she left Booth's this morning? Why hadn't she woken him up and told him what happened. _Because they're just dreams_ she answered herself. She sighed. She knew intellectually that dreams were just dreams; they couldn't hurt you, they didn't mean anything, they were just _dreams_. However, in spite of her cognitive understanding of this, she was terrified whenever she closed her eyes. She knew that the moment she drifted off, she would be transported back to those scenes, those sounds, the images of death, the people she loved…why couldn't she shake this?

She signed another form.

* * *

Angela and Hodgins made it the Jeffersonian at 8:30 that morning. When they arrived, they split up and went their separate ways, Hodgins heading to his workstation, and Angela heading to Temperance's office. She made it to the door and gave a slight knock as she pushed it open.

"Morning, Sweetie."

"Morning." The response was given flatly, and Angela took a moment to look at her best friend. There was a slight glow on Temperance's face from the computer screen, and Angela noted that she looked tired—very tired.

"Are you okay?"

Temperance glanced up. The look in her eyes was irritated frustration, but when she spoke her voice was even and calm. "I'm fine."

Angela nodded and sat down on the couch. "Did you stay with Booth last night?"

"For a while," Temperance answered, her attention back on her computer screen.

"A while? What happened?"

"Nothing, I just woke up and wasn't really that tired anymore, so…plus I have a lot to catch up on…"

"Sweetie…"

"What's up, Ange? What did you need?"

Angela sighed, conceding defeat. "I talked to Hodgins."

Temperance gave Angela her full attention.

"We're going to try to do this together."

"Together as in…?"

"We aren't dating, but…we're in a good place."

"So, you feel better about everything?"

"Much." Temperance nodded. Angela decided to tactfully breech the subject of Booth again. "I talked to Booth about it, too, and he helped a lot. He's a good listener."

Temperance glanced over at Angela.

"I'm just saying…he's nice to talk to."

Temperance didn't respond.

"Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted."

"I'm fine, Ange."

"Yeah, I know your 'fine,' but I'm just saying I think you should take today off. Go back to my apartment and get some sleep."

"I don't need to go to sleep."

"Bren, you need to." She hesitated. "And, maybe if you sleep during the day, you won't have any…"

"_I'm fine_, Angela." Her tone was forceful now, her calm breaking.

"Tempe…"

"Listen, I know that you want to take care of me, and that's really nice and everything, but I don't have time to just take a day off right now. I have work to do, I'm supposed to have a draft of my book, and…" she sighed. "I appreciate the concern. But I'm fine. I'll get plenty of sleep when the case is over. Okay?"

"No. Not okay. But…" Angela shrugged. "I guess there's nothing I can do about it." Angela stood up from the couch and headed back out Temperance's door. She turned around to say something else, but Temperance's focus was back to the papers on her desk, so Angela just sighed and headed back to her own office.

* * *

Seeley Booth was not in a good mood. By 9:30 that morning, he had already spent an hour and a half in interviews with suspects. And he hadn't made much progress.

"Have you had any contact with your mother in the last ten years?"

Haley just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we all sit around and sing Barney songs. What the hell do you think?"

"When was the last time you saw or spoke with your mother?"

"She was hauled off in a straight jacket when I was two. Does that count?"

Booth had spent an hour with Haley before letting her leave. She was trouble, and it was more than likely that she would end up getting arrested at some point in the near future, but Booth felt confident that she wasn't guilty of this crime.

Booth cracked his neck and headed into the next interview. Daniel Roslynn, Ophelia's editor.

"Good morning, Mr. Roslynn."

"Agent Booth."

Booth tossed a file onto the table and sat down in the chair across from Danny.

"How long have you been an editor for Ms. Stone?"

Danny shifted in his chair and scratched behind his ear. "Um, I'm not sure of the year, exactly. A while."

"And in that time has your relationship with Ms. Stone been purely professional?"

"Ophe…Ms. Stone is my friend. We talk to one another often. Our relationship does not extend beyond friendship."

"So, you'll talk, maybe throw her a book idea here or there…"

"She's a friend who happens to be a writer. And I'm her editor. It's only natural that the subject of her books comes up in our conversations." He straightened the sleeves on his shirt.

"Are you currently working as an editor for any other authors?"

Danny cleared his through. "Not as an editor, per se. I'm technically retired."

"But you still work with Ms. Stone."

"Ms. Stone is a friend. I was acting as her editor before I retired, and when I decided that I was ready to retire, I decided that I would still work with her as a courtesy. I've been her editor on all of her works, starting with her first book." He ran a hand through his hair.

Booth whistled. "Retired book editor. Bet that doesn't give much of a pension."

"I get by," Danny answered somewhat forcefully.

"And being retired, you probably have quite a bit of free time on your hands."

"I lead a very active life."

"I don't doubt it." Booth shuffled through the envelope. "What can you tell me about a young woman by the name of Cindy Osman?"

"Cindy Osman…" Danny scratched his cheek. "The name doesn't ring a bell."

"What about Jensen Bright? Debra Grey?"

Danny cleared his throat. "Never heard of them. Are they writers?"

"We're finding they're more like characters. So, you talk to Ophelia often?"

Danny rested his chin on his hand awkwardly. "Fairly often. I told you, she's a good friend."

"And have you recently suggested and new book ideas to her?"

Danny hesitated. "A few months ago I mentioned an idea. She gave me a draft a week or so ago."

"And how did you come up with this idea?"

"I don't know, it just came to me."

"Do you often fantasize about ways in which to kill people?"

"I don't 'fantasize' about killing people, alright? I work in this business. When you get an idea, you tell someone who can write it down. It forms a community."

"A community based on death?"

"The death of a _fictional character_."

"Did you also 'fantasize' about the manner in which to kill Debra Grey, Jensen Bright, and Cindy Osman? Or did that just come to you on the spot as well?"

"What? I…"

"Or maybe, you know, you just wanted to try out this new 'plot idea' before you passed it along to Ms. Stone, huh? Maybe find out what it was like, develop a little descriptive imagery?"

Danny sat back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest. "I want a lawyer."

"I'd highly recommend that you get a good one."

* * *

Angela was in her office, working on the facial reconstruction of the man from Temperance's apartment, when Temperance walked into the room at 11:30.

"Got anything yet?"

Angela shook her head. "Not yet."

"We need that face, Angela," Temperance's tone was agitated.

Angela glanced up. "I'm working as fast as I can, Sweetie. We'll get it."

"Hey, Angela," Hodgins said as he walked into the room. He saw Temperance. "Hey, Dr. Brennan."

"Have you been able to determine time of death?" Temperance asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"The insect life in the soil around the remains suggests roughly three weeks, but the soil seems to be overly fertile."

"Which means what?"

Hodgins shook his head. "I'm not sure yet. It could just be a fluke, the body was found in the woods so there a definite possibility that some weather condition simply enriched this portion of the ground more. My theory, though, is that the body was covered over with leaves. When they broke down with the body, extra minerals were deposited in the soil."

"Which helps us how?"

Hodgins gave a quizzical look at her sharp tone. "It tells us that whoever left the body took time with it. It wasn't just a dumping."

"Sweetie, calm down, we're doing everything that we can."

Temperance sighed. "I'm going out for a while. I'll be back later."

Hodgins and Angela gave her a confused look. "Alright. We'll keep working."

"Try to have the face done by the time I get back."

"Sure, Bren."

Temperance gave a quick nod and walked out of the office, missing Angela and Hodgins' exchange of confused looks.

"She needs to get some sleep," Angela commented.

Hodgins nodded in bewildered agreement.

* * *

Temperance made it to Ophelia's house by 12:45. She twisted the keys in the ignition, turning the car off, and climbed out. She knocked twice on the front door. Ophelia answered quickly.

"Temperance, hello, come on in, I'd almost forgotten you were coming today."

Temperance stepped out of the chilled outside air into the warm living room.

"I just have to print the manuscript off my computer." She took Temperance's coat and draped it across the back of a nearby chair.

"Sure, take your time," Temperance answered, secretly happy that this gave her an excuse to avoid working.

"Why don't I make you some tea?" Ophelia offered.

Temperance smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That sounds good."

Temperance walked to the coach and sat down while Ophelia worked on the tea in the kitchen. Temperance paid little attention to what the other woman was doing, choosing instead to rub her fingers over her eyes, feeling the pulse in her temples.

Ophelia reappeared a few minutes later with a mug of tea. "Here you go. I'll go start printing out the manuscript."

Temperance accepted the mug as Ophelia headed to the computer. She could hear Ophelia clicking the keyboard and mouse, telling the document to begin printing.

"I've actually been thinking of an idea for a new story," Ophelia said.

"About what?" Temperance queried.

"Actually about what I was talking to you about the other day. About the white noise. I think I could work it into an interesting case, and my therapist thinks it would be cathartic."

Temperance took a deep drink of the tea. "That sounds like a good idea. It could be made into an interesting case."

Ophelia murmured her agreement. "Hmmm…" Temperance heard her say from the corner. "Sorry, the printer isn't cooperating. I'll be back with you in a second.

"Sure." Temperance continued to drink her tea, draining a large portion of the cup. The warm liquid spilled down her throat, warming her from the inside out. The nights of sleeplessness began to creep up on her, the hot tea making her feel drowsy. She could still hear Ophelia's soft speaking in the corner as she tried to work out the problem with the printer. _I'll just close my eyes for a second_ Temperance thought, not quite willing to admit that she was having a hard time keeping them open. _Just until she fixes the printer…_

Almost before she had time to finish the thought, Temperance Brennan drifted to sleep.

* * *

Zach found Angela and Hodgins in Angela's office at 3:30 that afternoon. "Where's Dr. Brennan?" he asked without preamble.

Hodgins looked up at him. "You know, most people come into a room and start by saying 'hello!' or, if you're a fat guy, by giving a jolly, 'top o' the mornin' to ya!"

Angela gave Hodgins a quizzical look. "Why do you have to be fat to say 'top of the morning'?"

Hodgins paused for a moment. "I don't know. Now that you say it, it sounds more Irish. Although, I did say 'jolly.'"

"Thin people can be jolly," Angela pointed out.

"Where's Dr. Brennan?" Zach asked again, louder this time.

Hodgins pointed at Zach with his thumb. "See? So not jolly…"

Angela just shook her head, laughing slightly under her breath before answering Zach. "She left for a while. Why, what do you need her for?"

"It's an _anagram_. They all are."

Angela and Hodgins both gave Zach their full attention. "What's an anagram?" Hodgins asked.

"The notes. At first I thought it was some sort of code or cipher, but statistically the patterns were to random and erratic to make a coherent system. Then I noticed that the overall choices in word usage in conjunction with the capitalization scheme were indicative of an anagram. If they were operating under mere code, the notes wouldn't have made sense to the naked eye. They wouldn't have necessarily formed understandable word and sentence patterns because there would have been no need to present them as understandable phrases. In fact, real letters wouldn't have even needed to be used. So, I did a cross search on the letters, using the notes themselves as guides for the criteria of sound quality and syllabic structure…"

"Time to get to the point, Zach," Hodgins cut in.

"The first is a cry for help. The second gives the name of a victim. And the one from Dr. Brennan's apartment is a warning." Zach pulled out the three notes and spread them on Angela's desk. He pointed to the first one. "This one could be read two ways. It either says 'help me, save them' or 'help them, save me.' I found that the bolded letter was in bold because it was the only single letter to be used twice. The second," he pointed to it, "says 'her name is Cindy Osman.' And the last one," he pointed to the photograph from Temperance's apartment, "says 'you aren't safe.'"

Angela and Hodgins stared at the notes as they took in what Zach had said.

"You're sure?" Angela asked.

"No, wait," Hodgins said, pointing to the first letter. "That can't be right. There's an 'o' capitalized, but there's no 'o' in the message you found."

"Yes, that is an anomaly that I found in all three notes. In each, the word 'so' appears, but I can't find an apparent place for it to fit into the messages.

They looked at the notes for a moment longer, and suddenly Angela froze. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "A signature. It isn't 'so,' it's 'O.S.' It's a signature. It's Ophelia Stone."

* * *

Your turn


	24. A Strange Sort of Logic

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, although I did see that they are making an episode where the case is related to Temperance's books...hey, maybe I can sue them for stealing _my _idea... :-)

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter. I always appreciate it. Now, about this one...let's start with a moment of honesty. Most of us love those stories where Booth saves the day and saves Bones. If we didn't, Angela's comment about Booth being a "knight in standard FBI issue body armor" wouldn't be repeated so much. However, even though I liked this theme as much as the next Bones viewer, I decided I wanted to play with it a little. So, in this chapter, I hope to put a new spin on the popular "Booth saves the day" story. Let me know what you think. Not proofread. Here you go...

* * *

The sky was beginning to turn when Temperance woke up. Sunset was coming. Feeling groggy and disoriented, she forced her eyes open and tried to look at her surroundings. The walls made her feel dizzy, the patterns creating disjointed chaos, and for a moment she remembered reading the story "The Yellow Wallpaper" in her English 101 class. Her head felt oddly disconnected from her body, and she wondered for a moment if she was even really awake.

Her limbs felt unnaturally heavy, her head far to light, and when she tried to move she felt her muscles resound with a shock of protest. Her eyelids felt thick, her cheeks swollen, and she couldn't seem to shake the overwhelming confusion that was clouding her actions.

"Temperance?" It was a tentative voice. _Coming from your right_ her brain registered. She turned her head slowly.

Ophelia Stone was staring back at her with concerned eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Temperance put a hand on her forehead, trying to find some way to balance the sensations. "What happened?"

"You feel asleep."

Temperance then noticed that it was getting dark outside. "How long ago?"

Ophelia looked at her watch. "About…three hours? Four?"

"My head…"

"You were sleeping really soundly."

Temperance moved slightly in an attempt to stretch, or to at least stimulate the blood flow in her limbs. Her left arm gave a sharp shock of pained protest at this action. She looked down at it and saw three pin-sized marks, the areas around them darkened slightly with the beginnings of bruises. "What happened to my arm?" she asked. She noticed the slight slur in her own voice.

"Do you need some water?"

Temperance looked back at Ophelia through her thickly lidded eyes. "Water…"

Ophelia got up to get the drink as Temperance remained on the couch, trying to regain a sense of understanding. It wasn't until Ophelia was walking back that Temperance began to realize it was strange that Ophelia didn't seem to see anything odd about this situation.

* * *

Angela, Hodgins, and Zach stood staring at the notes dumbly as Angela's realization began to sink in.

"Ophelia Stone…" Hodgins said slowly under his breath.

"Ophelia knows who the killer is," Zach said.

"Ophelia _is_ the killer," Hodgins corrected. "She broke into Dr. Brennan's apartment. She had to; she left the note on the wall."

"And in the apartment…" Zach began.

"She also left a skull," Hodgins finished.

"We have to call Bren and Booth," Angela stated, pulling out her cell phone.

She dialed Temperance's number first, but the phone just went to voicemail. "She isn't answering."

"Where is she?" Zach asked.

Angela began to dial Booth's number. "She left earlier, but she didn't say where she was going."

"She was probably going to go get some sleep, she was really tired," Hodgins added.

Booth's phone rang, but also went to voicemail. "He isn't answering, either," Angela said. She dialed again with the same result.

A third attempt also proved fruitless. "We have to get up with them," Angela said, attempting Temperance's phone again. It once again went to voicemail. She dialed her own apartment, hoping Temperance was there. There was no answer.

"I'll go to Booth's office," Hodgins said, heading for the door. "Keeping trying to get in touch with Dr. Brennan."

Angela nodded, hitting redial on the cell phone.

"What about me?" Zach asked.

"Zach, you…inspect something. See if you can figure anything else out." And with that, he left.

* * *

Temperance accepted the water from Ophelia, vaguely noticing that her own hands were slightly shaking. She felt a slight rise of panic when she realized she didn't remember coming to Ophelia's house.

"What's going on?" Temperance asked.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"What happened?"

Ophelia sat gingerly on the couch beside Temperance. "I'm really sorry."

Temperance felt a small spike in her heart rate. "For what?"

Ophelia sighed. "I didn't want it to be this way. I wanted you to just understand, without any help. You were the perfect person for it."

"For what?" Temperance began to feel dizzy.

"To understand me. I tried to explain it to you. Do you remember?"

"Remember…?"

Ophelia looked Temperance fully in the eyes. "You are the dichotomy, Temperance. You bridge the gap between the living and the dead."

Temperance began to feel sickly and lightheaded, and then she heard it…a soft noise, like a gentle whispering in her brain. "Is this…am I dreaming?" she asked.

Ophelia reached out and tenderly stroked Temperance cheek. "You should have been my daughter, Temperance. You and I are so alike. Please understand that I only did this so you would understand what I was telling you. I'm just doing it to show you…it's like there's a sheath over reality, and if we can just peak around it, we can see what is really real. We can already see the cracks in the canvas, where the worlds stick together…like the word 'mouth,' a word and at the same time spoken with the mouth…it's what is real and really real and completely transitory."

Temperance struggled to listen, the whispering beginning to turn into a steady hiss.

"I didn't want to do any of it, Temperance. I didn't want to kill any of them. But they told me…"

"Who?" Temperance mumbled.

Ophelia smiled. "_They_ did. Don't you hear them?"

The hiss grew louder.

"I tried to warn you," Ophelia said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I didn't want you to get caught up in it all. I just wanted you to know. I _needed_ someone to know. They wanted to taunt you, but I put notes inside the notes, so that you would understand. They wanted me to get rid of you." Ophelia leaned close to Temperance, her breath coating Temperance's ear. "I'm saving you."

Temperance pulled back and looked into Ophelia's eyes, confused. As she stared, she suddenly saw it. In Ophelia's eyes, she saw a true note of utter terror. "Now save me," she whispered hoarsely. "Just understand. Please…just help. Save me." Her voice was urgent and pleading.

Temperance heard a sudden jarring roar echo through her skull, and she clamped her hands over her ears in an effort to block the noise. It didn't lessen, and she wasn't sure of she cried out in response.

Ophelia placed a hand on her neck. "Shh…it's okay, baby. Don't fight it. Shh…it's okay…"

* * *

Hodgins rolled into the parking lot at the FBI building, getting out of the car almost before it was even at a complete stop. He jogged inside, rushing until he made it to Booth's office. He looked in and saw his cell phone ringing on the desk.

He grabbed the first nearby agent he saw. "Where's Agent Booth?" he asked. "It's important, about a case he's working on."

"Interview room two, I think," the man answered. Hodgins hurried away.

After a few long minutes of explaining and talking to the men outside of the interview room, Hodgins pushed past them and flung the door opened, saying Booth's name loudly as the men tried to pull him back.

"Hey, hey, WHOA!" Booth said, signaling for the men to stop. "It's cool, I know him. What, Hodgins?"

"We know who it is. We have the evidence."

"Uh, Hodgins, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now…" he gestured to Daniel Roslynn.

"This is more important."

Booth sighed. He looked at Danny. "I'll be back when your lawyer gets here," he said, pushing up out of his chair, heading to the door.

"Looking forward to it," the man muttered back.

Hodgins and Booth made it outside the door. "Okay, Hodgins, what is it?"

"Zach figured out the notes. They're anagrams, and they're _signed_."

Booth paused. "Wait, what do you mean 'signed'?"

"Initialed. It's Ophelia Stone, Booth. She's behind it all."

"You're sure?"

"The evidence doesn't lie."

"Where's Bones?"

"We can't get up with her."

Booth turned to the men outside the interview room. "Tell him to come back tomorrow," he said. He turned to Hodgins. "You better be right about this."

Hodgins nodded and Booth headed out to his SUV. He fired up the engine and pulled out, heading in the direction of Ophelia Stone's house.

* * *

Temperance struggled to control her muscles as her body went into a spasm. She could feel her body vibrating in her fingers, her calves, her shoulders, and even behind her ribs. She felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes as her brain irrationally begged her body to be still.

Ophelia continued to stroke her neck and back. "Just let it go, baby."

"W-what…what's going on?" Temperance choked out. "What's happening to me?"

"Shh…I just need you to calm down. Listen to me."

Temperance turned her head to look at Ophelia. The actions caused an echoing noise to pulse through Temperance's mind, heightening the ferocity of the shaking in her hands. Ophelia suddenly seemed as though she were much farther away, the room seeming to stretch for miles, the walls inflating and spreading into nothingness. Her skin felt both clammy and burning hot at the same time.

"I didn't want to have to do this. But I couldn't make you understand." Ophelia's voice was urgent. "_They_ wanted me to just get rid of you, but you and I know better."

Temperance coughed, feeling as though she were about to vomit. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I can't just get rid of you, baby, because you and I both know that we can't ever really be destroyed." She leaned closer, and Temperance shuddered, suddenly thinking that her features seemed too prominent, too well defined. "We are two of the few, Temperance. We stand on the line better this world and the real. We are between life and death. You deal with death everyday, intimately, personally. And I…I have had my own personal dealings with death. But we are both the living. We will always be the living."

Temperance coughed again, the bile burning her throat and the back of her mouth. The shaking seemed to intensify.

"We can peak into the real, Temperance. When we die, we'll still be able to go back and forth. But it will be _heightened_, don't you understand? We can have control. We can get away from _them_."

The rumbling rose louder in Temperance's ears. "_You aren't getting out this time…"_ The tears spilled out of Temperance's eyes, lining her cheeks with salty trails. "_I have you now…_"

"I don't…I don't understand…"

A look of hurt passed through Ophelia's eyes.

"Booth…I need to talk to Booth," Temperance stuttered out. She wasn't sure why she needed to talk to him, what she thought he would do, but at that moment talking to Booth seemed to be the only thing that mattered in the world. He would know what to do. He would make sense out of what was going on. If only she could talk to Booth…

"Booth isn't like us. Booth can't cross over. He can't be a part of what we can…he won't understand."

Temperance began to feel frantic. Bursts of pain began to enflame her stomach.

"You belong with me, Temperance. We belong with the dead."

"_Go to your dead…_"

"I don't want to die…"

"It isn't a real death, baby. We're just going home."

Ophelia stood from the couch and walked back to the desk in the corner. She opened a side drawer and came back with a handgun. Temperance stared at it, her eyes fixed on the metal. Ophelia stood before Temperance, the gun resting in her fingers.

"I want you to wait for me when you get there. I'll be coming right behind. Wait for me, baby. Promise that you will wait."

_I'm going to die_ Temperance realized. _She's going to kill me. Come on, Tempe, get up. Get the gun. Fight back. FIGHT BACK!_ In spite of her thoughts, she heard her voice say. "I promise."

* * *

Booth dialed Temperance's cell phone number as he roared to Ophelia's home. The phone, once again, went straight to voicemail.

"Come on, Bones. Where are you?"

* * *

Ophelia lifted the gun, leveling toward Temperance's head. Temperance felt her muscles twitch. She heard the hiss burn the edges of her brain. Suddenly, she felt her heart rate accelerate further. _No_ she thought simply. With this thought on her mind, she forced her body to move.

She lunged forward, unable to give a real thought to how stupid this action was. Ophelia was on the ground before she had truly processed what was happening, the gun skidding off to the left.

Terrified, Temperance gave no thought to what she was doing. She just fought. Fought to stay alive, fought out of fear, fought out of confusion for what was going on. Ophelia matched her vigor, the older woman grunting from the strain of deflecting Temperance's attacks.

They rolled on the carpet, bringing them both closer to the gun. Temperance jumped up and lunged for it as Ophelia reached out. Their hands met together on the weapon, each struggling for control.

_I have to stay alive_ Temperance thought, even as Ophelia's words from before washed over her. She continued to fight, even as a new realization came over her. _I need to die…_

* * *

Booth arrived in Ophelia's driveway and felt his blood turn to ice in his veins when his headlight reflected on Temperance's car. His brain reeled as he threw his door open and darted out. He dialed 911 on his cell phone, throwing it to the ground after pressing send. They could trace his call, he thought. Drawing his gun, he ran toward the door at full speed. He had almost made it when he heard the solid, final, sickening blast of a gunshot. Then, nothing. Feeling as though he would be sick, he kicked open the door with a strong left heel, and entered, gun raised.

Blood was the first thing he saw. Too much blood. He then saw the woman on the floor, the dead wide open eyes of a face that was disturbingly like Temperance Brennan.

His own blood roared in his ears, as he lifted his eyes and saw her. His Bones. Standing, staring at the dead form of Ophelia Stone, coated in blood, the gun still enveloped by her fingers.

"Bones…" he said tentatively, lowering the gun.

She turned her eyes to him, and he immediately knew something was wrong. "Bones?"

She looked directly at him, but it was as if she couldn't see him. "Booth?" she said, her voice bewildered.

Her eyes were glassy, and he noticed that she had one sleeve rolled up. She looked both terrified and apathetic at the same time.

"It's alright, Bones. I'm here. Just…put the gun down, walk over to me."

Temperance looked back at Ophelia, then at the gun in her hand, and then at the spattered blood. "What happened?"

"Bones, just listen to me. Put the gun down, walk to me."

"Someone is bleeding…"

Booth saw blood leaking from scratches on Temperance's body as Ophelia's blood pooled around her feet.

Booth inched closer. At his motion, Temperance quickly looked up, leveling the gun at him. "Stop."

Freezing, Booth stopped.

"Stop!" Temperance repeated, more urgently. Confused, Booth continued to stand still.

Temperance put her hands back over her ears, and sank down to the floor, not seeming to notice that she was sitting in the puddle of still warm blood. All Booth could seem to notice was the fact that the gun was now dangerously close to Temperance's head, the metal touching her temple.

Temperance began to whimper, and finally to cry. Booth tentatively stepped forward again.

"STOP!" Temperance shouted, this time firing a shot that flew past Booth's right arm.

Booth froze, his hands going rigid around his gun.

"Temperance!" He shouted.

This seemed to calm her for a moment, and she looked at him.

He stared into her eyes. _She isn't there_ he thought. _It's like she isn't in there._ "Temperance, I need you to listen to me, alright? Put the gun on the floor. Push it away from you. It's going to be okay. Just put the gun down."

Temperance stared at him for a moment, before finally giving him a slow, sad smile. "She was right," she whispered.

Booth kept his gun ready, pointed at the ground in front of Temperance's feet. "Who was right?"

Temperance looked at Ophelia. "I don't belong here…" She shook her head and then looked back at Booth. "It's so loud…" she hoarsely whispered. "And she was right…they're right…"

"Temperance, you need to listen to me now," Booth begged.

Temperance wiped a tear from her cheek with the hand that was still holding the gun. Booth flinched as it passed under her eye. "I wanted to love you, Booth, do you know that?" She gave him a sad smile. "I wanted to. Maybe I did. But you have a son. Hodgins and Angela have a baby. You've all created life." She shook her head, looking back at Ophelia. "Your place, Booth, is with the living." She looked back at him, and he watched in terror as she lifted the gun back up, resting it against her temple. "And mine is with the dead."

* * *

Thoughts? Now's the time 


	25. Fear and Death

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews to the last chapter! I honestly didn't mean to wait this long to update. Sorry about that. Okay, so this chapter...let me make a confession. When I got the idea for this story, the only moment of the entire thing that I had in my head was the Temperance/suicide moment that was in the last chapter. That was pretty much it. So, I wrote a story to go before it, and I was pretty happy, and then I published the last chapter and realize...wow...I have no idea what happens now. lol So I've been wondering how they were going to get out of this one as much as you guys. Now doesn't that confession inspire confidence? lol I was actually just tempted to write "and then she died, the end." But, I decided that you guys probably wouldn't like that...anyway...hope it isn't too horrible. Here it is...

* * *

In his time as a sniper Seeley Booth had dealt with fear and death. They had been two constants of his life. The fear came in the moments surrounding the kill. In the seconds before the shot, he had always felt as though his senses had been revved up a notch. Every detail, every ripple in the breeze, every beat of his heart, every hair on the head of his mark felt intensified. In those spare seconds before the pulling of the trigger, he would almost swear that he could hear dust settling on barrel of his weapon. After the shot was away, the realization of death came. He would always sit for a split second after the bullet had hit the mark, just watching. Just looking long enough. Long enough to see the bloodstain, long enough to see the shoulders slump, long enough to register the shock on the faces of those nearby. But he only allowed that one second for looking. After than, he was away, crouched, making his escape.

Seeley Booth was used to fear and death. They weren't pleasant things, but they were things he was used to. He always claimed that it never got any easier, and sometimes he believed himself, but more often he had to admit that with each kill he felt a little less. After his tenth kill, he realized that the moment felt far less intimate. After twenty kills, his heart rate slowed much more quickly. And after twenty-five? He wondered why fear had ever bothered him at all. Fear and death were two things he could handle. He was sure of that.

As Booth stared at Temperance in that single second that seemed to stretch for an eternity, he remembered the fear he had experience at his first kill. His blood felt cold. He couldn't tell if was able to move. Everything around him seemed devastatingly still. He was intensely aware of the fact that there was a light on beside that couch, and that the hazy whitish-yellow glow of that light was hugging the left side of Temperance's body, stroking over her cheek, absorbing into the blood underneath her legs. He saw his gun come up, saw it pointed at Temperance. He saw Temperance close her eyes, and he heard a shout. A man's voice, loud and echoing. He wouldn't realize until days later that the voice had been his.

He fired his shot a good three feet above her head. At the time, he wasn't sure why he did it. He later realized that it had been to get her attention. It worked. Her eyes flew back open, and in that second of hesitation on her part, he threw himself at her. He saw her finger move on the trigger as he came at her, the end still tightly resting on her temple. He threw his hand forward, felt the metal of the gun beneath his fingers, as he pushed it back, away from her. The gun went off, missing both of them, the bullet embedding itself in the floor.

Lost in the moment, Booth and Temperance began to struggle for the gun. He could feel a tremor in her body as he wrestled for the weapon, could see the shaking in her fingers and hands as she desperately tried to grasp the gun. Her mouth was near his ear, he could hear her breathing. Then, in a voice that was weak, almost whimpering and completely unlike Temperance, he heard her whisper, "Just let me go, Booth."

He felt the sweat on his skin. Everything was too precise. _Next comes the kill_. He was so used to the pattern. The kill should be coming soon. He felt his body strain. He couldn't let this happen. Not to her.

He heard sirens in the distance, and silently thanked God that his call had gone through. The moment of realization that help was on the way stilled Booth for the briefest of moments, just long enough for Temperance to yank the gun back, once again under her control. Booth moved for it, but when he saw her trying to bring it back to her head, he did the only thing he could think of. Wrenching his arm with all the forced he could, he slammed his elbow into her head. The blow landed with a painful and sickening _thud_, and she stopped struggling. She was unconscious. He was still for a moment, his breathing labored. Hearing the sirens grow louder, he pushed himself up and gathered her in his arms. She slumped against him, and he felt real terror. He moved to the door, kicked it open, and shouted to the cops who were getting out of their cars, "we need an ambulance, NOW!"

* * *

The next few hours were a complete blur. He was checked out by EMTs on the scene, and when he was cleared, he broke at least a dozen traffic laws getting to the hospital. He must have called the squints at some point, because they arrived at the ER shortly after he did. He was sitting in a blue plastic chair in the waiting room when they came in, there faces etched with concern. He didn't even look up when they came up to him. His hands were together, flush, as if he were praying, and resting on his forehead. His clothes were damp and sticky with blood.

Angela knelt down in front of him, her face a blend of concern and fear. "Booth…what happened? What's going on?" She tried to say it calmly, but her words were rushed, the reality of the situation threatening to creep in.

He shook his head, offering no reply.

"Where's Dr. Brennan?" Zach asked, his voice rising in pitch. Booth glanced at him. He knew the question hadn't been genuine. They all knew where Bones was. But saying it would make it too real. It would mean that this was really happening.

"They made me come out here," Booth answered. His voice was monotone.

"No, no, no, they can't do that!" Hodgins said, looking around. "Hey, hey!" he said, walking toward a nurse. "I need to go back and see Dr. Temperance Brennan, right now."

"Who are you, sir?" the nurse asked.

"Dr. Jack Hodgins."

"Are you a medical doctor, Dr. Hodgins?"

"I need to go back there _now_."

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. Please just wait. I'm sure someone will be out soon with information for you."

"No! You don't understand! I need to…"

Angela put her hands on Hodgins' arm, guiding him back toward the chairs where Booth still sat, unmoving.

"It's okay, Jack. She's going to be fine. Just…sit. She's going to be fine."

Zach sat down in a chair opposite Booth. "Where's Dr. Brennan?" he asked, though it was quieter this time, not really a question at all.

Booth just sat frozen, staring past his hands, at the floor.

"What happened, Booth?" Angela asked, her voice shaking slightly. Booth glanced at her, and for a moment he realized he was surprised. He wouldn't have guessed that she would be the one trying to keep everyone else calm.

After he stared at her for a minute, Angela rested her hand on his arm. "Booth…what happened?"

"I…I don't know. She was…and I came in, and, and…blood. And then she had the gun…"

"Booth?"

"I didn't think she would shoot at me…but she did…"

"Shoot at you?"

"And then she was just, so…and I didn't…" He rested his head back in his hands, closing his eyes.

"Booth…"

Booth took a deep breath. "This isn't really happening," he said a moment later. "This doesn't happen." And with that he felt tears begin to come out of his eyes. He made no move to wipe them, and as Angela looked at him, she felt tears fall down her own cheeks as well.

* * *

Roughly four hours later, a haggard looking doctor entered the waiting room. "Agent Booth?"

Booth stood up quickly as the man approached, the squints also coming to attention.

"Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Bines," the man said extending his hand.

Booth accepted the handshake absentmindedly. "How is she?"

"She's undergone quite a bit of trauma, but we're doing everything we can."

"What does that mean?" Booth asked, his tone less than friendly, but more than a little drained.

"She's in critical condition. We pumped her stomach, made her ingest some coal…"

"Coal?"

"It adds in the absorption of certain drugs, removes them from the system. We can't conclusively say how much her body did absorb, but it seems as though it was quite a bit."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, when she came in, she was presenting with tremors, vomiting, auditory hallucinations…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, she was _unconscious _when she was brought in!"

"She woke up in the ambulance. Caused quite a struggle, too."

"So, what happens now?"

"We have to wait and see. Drug cases can be especially difficult, every different person can have a different reaction to a drug or combination of drugs. I will say that I believe she has a fighting chance, though making it through tonight will be crucial. It actually also helps that she was in a physical altercation."

"How does that help?"

"The adrenaline she would have experienced would have aided her body in clearing some of the chemicals. Now we just have to wait and see if it helped her enough."

"Will she be able to remember any of this?"

"Hard to say, that it's unlikely that she will. She probably won't remember anything that happened in the hours before the drugs were introduced. The extent of what she will forget is uncertain."

"When can I see her?"

"She's not awake right now. There is some paperwork we need you to fill out, if you're able…?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you need."

"Are you any relation to Ms. Brennan?"

"Dr. Brennan. And yeah, she's my…wife."

The doctor gave him a quizzical look.

"She kept her own last name."

"And I'm her brother," Hodgins said, standing up. "Jack. This is her other brother, Zach, and her sister, Angela."

The doctor looked at Angela for a moment. "I'm adopted," Angela stated.

"Nice to meet you all," the doctor said. "Since you're all family, I'll make sure that you get to see her as soon as possible in ICU." The doctor gave the group a small smile, letting them know that he hadn't been fooled, and then turned back to Booth. "If you don't mind, I'll have a nurse bring you some paperwork for your wife."

"Thank you, Doctor."

* * *

Booth filled out the paperwork as best as he could before slumping back into the blue plastic chair beside the squints. A few minutes later, a police officer who Booth knew, walked through the door.

"Booth?" said John, the police officer. "I'm going to need to get some statements from you.

Booth nodded. They had let him leave the scene, an action which was against protocol, so he had yet to give them a statement as to what happened. The officer lead Booth to a small room down the hall.

"Okay, Booth, let's start with why you were at Ophelia Stone's home," John said.

Booth settled back in his chair. He gave the men a brief synopsis of the case, and explained the realization that Ophelia was the killer. He stated that he had forensic evidence to substantiate his claims.

"And when you arrived at the house, what did you see?"

"Temperance's…my partner's…car was in the driveway. When I went into the house, Ophelia was dead. Bones…Dr. Brennan…had multiple injuries. She seemed to be heavily drugged. She did not appear to be at all lucid. She claimed that she was going to kill herself, and she actually seem surprised when I tried to stop her. I ended up knocking her unconscious, and moments later the police arrived. I believe that the doctors can confirm that when she was admitted, she was dealing with the symptoms of an overdose."

The officers nodded, jotting notes. "Thanks, Seeley," they said. "How's she doing?"

"Don't know much yet."

John nodded. He glanced back at his notes. "Well, if you can actually prove that this woman was a serial killer, and that your partner was drugged, there's a good chance that charges won't stick."

"Are you supposed to be telling me that?"

"No," John said, flipping his notebook closed. "But you're not an average civilian." He offered Booth a smile.

"Thanks, man. How're the kids?"

"Getting bigger everyday. Scott's walking now."

Booth nodded, and the two men rose. "Give my best to Jenny, huh?"

John nodded back. "Sure. We'll pray for your partner, man."

"Thanks."

* * *

Review if you want to


	26. Family Time

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! Always great to get feedback. I'm 99 sure that there will only be one more chapter after this one, just to kind of wrap things up. I get kind of annoyed by the nice neat endings...but they are tempting to write, aren't they:-) Hope everyone has a good time with this one. Not proofread...I'm still sticking with my whole lazy "art in its raw form" thing. Enjoy that :-)

* * *

Booth and the squints slept in the hospital waiting room that night. At 5:30 the next morning, Hodgins woke up, peeled himself carefully away from Angela, who was still sleeping, and took the elevator downstairs to buy coffee. He came back carrying the tray of four cups, one decaf for Angela, and as he sat them down on the small table that held out of date magazines that appeared to have never been opened, Booth woke up.

"Hey, man," Hodgins said, keeping his weary voice low so he wouldn't wake the others.

"Has the doctor been back?" Booth asked, keeping his voice low as well, sounding dazed from sleep.

Hodgins shook his head and held a cup out for Booth. He accepted it gratefully. The two men shared a quiet look.

"I'm sure if…if something had happened…someone would have told us," Hodgins said.

Booth nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. No news is good news."

"Right. Absolutely."

The two men nodded decisively, drinking from their cups, and then sat in silence a moment more.

"Plus," Hodgins continued, "she's a fighter. I mean, something as simple as this wouldn't bring her down."

"Yeah. Sure. I mean, it's just a few drugs, right? Some chemicals. Bones can beat that."

"Totally. I mean, if she can beat being buried alive…this is nothing."

Booth nodded in agreement. "Right. I mean, Bones, she's…she's tough."

"The toughest."

"And she's good in a crisis. She can hold herself together, she thinks. She doesn't freeze up."

"Not at all. I mean, she performed surgery on me while dealing with the fact that we both thought that we were going to…and, I mean, that was nothing for her. She never hesitated."

"Yeah. Bones can handle this."

"Yeah."

They both took long drags from their cups, taking a moment of silence to survey their still sleeping companions.

"Hey, Booth?"

"Hm?"

"What really happened yesterday?"

Booth glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…shit…" Hodgins rubbed his forehead. "We got here, and you were, like, shell shocked, or something. And you were…still are…covered in blood, and you mentioned there being blood everywhere when you got there? And Dr. Brennan shooting at you?" He shook his head. "What the hell happened?"

Booth sighed, sagging back into the chair that was increasingly causing an ache in his lower back. "I don't know, Hodgins."

Hodgins just looked at him, waiting. After a moment, Booth shook his head and continued. "I got there, and I saw her car, and I knew…you know how you just know? So I went in, and Ophelia…Bones was holding a gun, and there was just blood. And Bones, she…she was gone. I mean, I don't think she knew who I was. I mean, I had kicked the door open, run in holding a gun, shouting…and she just looked up at me, like she was surprised I was there, like I had just wandered in, and nothing was going on." He shook his head again. "And then, I started trying to talk to her, and she just started screaming, telling me to stay away…and then she shot at me. I don't know why, but…" Booth sighed heavily.

"Wait…how did all of that happen? You said she was unconscious when they brought her in."

Booth nodded. "I, uh…I had to get the gun away from her. I ended up…knocking her out."

"You knocked her out?"

Booth nodded.

Hodgins gave a small smile, trying to lighten the moment. "You better hope she doesn't remember anything, because when she wakes up, she'll kick your ass."

Booth had to chuckle in response.

"Was she really that out of it? She was honestly trying to kill you…so much so that you had to knock her unconscious?"

"Well…not exactly…"

Hodgins gave him a confused look, and Booth checked to make sure the other two squints were still sleeping. "She, uh…it wasn't me that she was trying to kill."

"But…who else was there?"

Booth sighed. "She, uh…she…she was trying to kill…herself."

Hodgins froze. "What?"

"She was so out of it on whatever she had been given…I don't know what Ophelia did to her. But she…" Booth shrugged, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Hodgins slumped back.

"But I'm sure…I mean, once they got her here…she wouldn't still want to…you know…"

"Right," Hodgins replied. "She's…she's a fighter. Once she got here…she wouldn't give up."

Booth nodded. "Yeah. Bones would never give up."

Zach and Angela began to wake up, and Hodgins and Booth stopped talking, both silently agreeing not to talk about it anymore. When the last two squints were awake, Hodgins presented them with their coffee, checking three times to make sure that Angela had decaf.

* * *

About thirty minutes later, a female doctor approached the four.

"Agent Booth?"

Booth stood quickly. "Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Kerny, I'm looking after your…" she checked her chart, "…wife, for Dr. Bines." She looked at the notes again. "I assume," she said, looking at the squints, "that you are her brothers and sister?" The squints nodded.

"How is she?" Hodgins asked.

"She made it through the night," Dr. Kerny replied.

Booth sagged back into the plastic chair, no longer caring that his back felt broken, thinking that those six words were the most beautiful he had ever heard, rivaling "it's a boy!" in terms of their impact on his life at that moment.

"So…she's going to be okay?" Angela asked, her voice cracking.

Dr. Kerny gave a small smile. "Last night was crucial. Since she made it through, her chances for survival are far greater. In situations of drug overdose, the more distance you can get from the event, the better. The bulk of the chemicals should have been either removed or processed through her system at this point."

"So…what does that mean? What happens now?" Booth asked.

"She's still in very serious condition. She hasn't regained consciousness yet."

"I thought she was conscious in the ambulance?" Booth asked, his head beginning to spin.

Dr. Kerny cleared her throat. "Shortly after arriving, she once again became unconscious. Luckily, by that time we were preparing to pump her stomach. We sent for toxicology reports, and when we have the results we will share them with you, but it seems likely that at least one of the drugs she was given was a sedative. A pretty powerful sedative, maybe Thorazine or Butisol."

"So…she's unconscious?"

Dr. Kerny nodded. "Now, it's a matter of when she'll wake up."

"But not a matter of 'if'?" Booth felt his throat constrict, even as he spoke.

Dr. Kerny gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "You can see her, if you want. We do ask that you don't all go at once. Two at a time."

Booth felt his body go slack in the chair. "Thank you, doctor," Angela said quietly, and with that, Dr. Kerny walked away.

* * *

The next three days were a blur. Booth and the squints took turns staying at the hospital, always making sure that someone was there. Temperance remained in ICU, unconscious, but with vitals that were showing signs of improvement. Angela drew a picture of a large and elaborate bouquet of wild flowers, as the hospital wouldn't allow real flowers in the ICU. The hospital staff came to recognize them, and it reached the point that they weren't even asked who they were going to see or their relationship to the patient when they went in. Though they never mentioned it to one another, all four members of Temperance's "family" secretly hated the first moment after walking into her room, that moment when it was again confirmed that Temperance was unconscious, unmoving, and far to pale, blending into the sterile white sheets that were carefully placed on top of her and the white gauze bandages that had been taped over her cuts. Zach, who for the first time in his life was wishing he were somewhat less intelligent, cringed when he realized, upon walking into her room one afternoon, that he could still see the imprint of his finger where he had touched the end of her bed six hours before. She hadn't even moved enough to move the indentation away.

At three am, going into day four, Zach was sitting in a chair in Temperance's room, sleeping, his head resting on his arms, which were curled on the bed near Temperance's side. Though this technically wasn't allowed by hospital standards, the staff took pity on the four who so diligently stayed beside Dr. Temperance Brennan, and Zach's presence was more or less overlooked.

Zach felt himself begin to wake up as a noticed an odd sensation in his head, like someone was tousling his hair, but much more slowly. He sat up slowly, his eyes heavy with sleep, and felt cold fingers trail down from the top of his head and over his cheek before landing on the bed. Zach looked up at Temperance's face and saw her eyes slightly open, looking back at him.

"Dr. Brennan?" he asked, thinking that he must not really be awake.

"Hey, Zach," she answered. Her voice was hoarse and raspy, low and hard to hear, but it was still her voice.

"You're…you're awake."

Her eyes looked sunken, rimmed red, and her lips were chapped. Somehow, until now, Zach hadn't noticed how dry her skin was.

Zach sat up quickly, fully awake now. "I…I have to go get a nurse…I need to find someone who…"

Temperance smiled at him slightly. "Okay," she rasped out. She closed her eyes again, and Zach rushed from the room to find someone to help him.

After find a nurse, Zach ran outside, calling Hodgins, Angela, and Booth on his cell phone. Booth arrived first, bursting through the hospital doors as though he hadn't even slowed down when he approached them. Hodgins and Angela weren't far behind, and the four ran back up to ICU, practically begging the nurse to let them back in, swearing they would be silent. The nurse, an older woman who had seen far too much death in her career, relented and allowed them in. They gathered around Temperance's bed, all silent, staring at her as if any moment she would jump up and start dancing. 

Booth wrapped his hand around her cold fingers, kneeling down beside the bed. He kissed back of her hand and rubbed it, trying to make it warm, as he stared at her face. They saw her eyelids flutter, and open about four seconds later.

"Bones?"

Temperance looked at Booth. "Hey." She looked at the other three faces around her bed. "Hey, everyone."

And just like that, Temperance's husband, brother, other brother, and adopted sister found they couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

After waking up, Temperance's vital signs showed spiked improvement. She was moved to a regular room as soon as possible, partially because she was doing better, and partially because the ICU nurses were tired of Booth and squints spending every waking moment in her room.

The toxicology reports for the most recent victim in the Ophelia Stone case were returned the same day Temperance's lab results came in. The man whose head had been cut off and left in Temperance's apartment after being killed due to poisoning was found to have traces of Buprenex, a drug for the relief of pain, Etrafon and Triavil, both antidepressants, Clozaril, Loxapine, and Lithium, all antipsychotics, and Zyprexa, another antipsychotic which of particular interest due to the fact that it was past its expiration date by four years. Temperance's toxicology showed Butisol, a barbiturate which was used as a sedative, Anafranil, an antidepressant and antiobsessional drug, Clozaril, Risperdal, and Lithium, all antipsychotics, and Zyprexa, which, just as was the case in the toxicology of the murder victim who it was later found was named Paul Kindle, was four years past expiration. A team was sent to search Ophelia's home. All the drugs from both toxicology reports were found, including the out of date Zyprexa, and all the prescriptions had been issued to Ophelia Stone.

The case against Ophelia Stone was closed quickly, the forensic links in the case being sufficient. All possible charges against Temperance Brennan were dropped as it was determined through her toxicology and Booth's reports that she acted in self defense. Booth never told police that she shot at him, or that she attempted suicide.

Two days after being moved to a regular room, Temperance's strength was improving greatly, although she found that she still tired easily. Once again, Booth and the squints seemed to come and go in shifts, though now it was done with happiness and relief.

One night, while Booth was sitting with Temperance in her room, a pensive look came over her face.

"Booth?" she said, her voice sounding more normal than it had in ICU.

"Yeah, Bones?"

"What happened? I mean…what actually happened?" Temperance had heard the reports. She had heard her toxicology, she had been told that Ophelia Stone was dead, convicted of the crimes. And, unsurprisingly, considering the massive dose of drugs she had been given, she found that she couldn't remember anything after leaving Booth's house after he asked her to stay the night.

Booth cleared his throat. "Zach figured out what the notes meant. Then, the squints put it all together, and…"

"I know all that," Temperance said. "I mean, _what happened?_ What happened in Ophelia's house?"

Booth sat for a moment, thinking about his answer. "I got to Ophelia's and broke in. You were there, and I could tell that you had been drugged." He glanced up at her to gauge her reaction thus far.

Her lips twitched in a sad smile. "I killed her. Didn't I?"

Booth sat frozen for a moment, looking at her face. He saw the conflict etched there. Even though she knew Ophelia was a murderer. Even though Ophelia had tried to kill _her_. Booth quickly weighed the options of telling her the truth against not telling her. He knew if he didn't tell her, she would probably find out, anyway. She was going to read the reports as soon as she got out.

"No," he said. He knew it was a lie, and one she would catch him in, but somehow he couldn't bear telling her the truth. He wanted to protect her, even if only for while she was still in the hospital. "You were unconscious when I got there. And…I fought with her, and killed her."

Temperance nodded, and Booth could see the slight relief on her face when he said she hadn't killed anyone.

"How did the police know to come?"

"I dailed 911 on my cell phone when I got there. They just traced the call after that."

"Lucky that worked," Temperance commented.

"Yeah. We were pretty lucky all the way around, I'd say."

"Yeah," Temperance agreed.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then, Bones glanced back up at his face and gave him a sad smile.

"It's funny," she said.

"What is?"

She shrugged. "Just that you said you were the one who fought with Ophelia and killed her…but you don't have any cuts or bruises." She looked down at the bruises on her own arms, now only slight and faded. "You don't have wounds like someone was trying to fight you off, or defend themselves."

Booth's chest constricted, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to give up the lie. "Like I said, I guess I was just lucky."

She nodded slowly and smiled. "Yeah. I guess so." He gave her a smile. "Hey, Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." And for that second, they let mutual understanding pass in silence. They both knew the truth, even though they would never bring it up again.

"Ya know, Bones," Booth said, relaxing in the chair a bit, a smile coming over his face, "when you get out of here, I think you should take some time off."

Temperance smiled. "I think so, too."

"Where are you going to go?"

Temperance shrugged. "Maybe Florida? Go to the beach?"

Booth smiled and laced his fingers behind his head, glancing out at the now dark sky that had been cold grey that afternoon, looking more like winter everyday. "That sounds great."

"You like the beach?"

"Of course, Bones, who doesn't love the beach?"

"Good," she said.

Booth didn't catch what she said at first, but when his brain realized that 'good' hadn't been the answer he had been expecting, he gave her a questioning look.

She smiled. "Maybe you should take some time off, too."

A slow smile came across his face. "Yeah, maybe. That sounds good."

She turned to look at him, a careful smile on her face. "Where do you think you'll go?"

He smiled more broadly. "I've been thinking I'd love to head to some Florida beaches."

"What a coincidence," she said.

A quick moment of awkwardness crept past them, through the room. Each quickly questioned what had just happened. What about all the awkwardness before? Was this okay? Was the other just humoring them to keep them from feeling bad?

And then, glancing at each other, the awkwardness made it out the door, leaving them strangely content.

"I think I'll work on my book," Temperance said, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Suddenly I feel like I really want to write."

Booth smiled, closing his own eyes as well. "I think that sounds like a great idea."

And with that, Temperance Brennan smiled slightly and fell into sleep, where she dreamed about warm beaches and fields of cool grass and hand draw flowers that Angela had made. And when she awoke the next morning, with Booth snoring in the chair beside her, she felt more rested than she had in months.

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Your turn


	27. Epilogue

Author's Note: Well, here it is guys, the last chapter. It's really just to wrap things up, so I hope you enjoy it. Let me just say, thanks to everyone who reviewed and stuck with this, even though it took me FOREVER to actually finish it. I hope everyone's had fun with it! Okay, here you go...

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Roughly six months after Bones was released from the hospital, Booth found himself once again sitting in an uncomfortable blue plastic chair with Zach impatiently tapping his foot beside him. Booth glanced at his watch—7:30 am. He rubbed a tired hand over his face and tried to stifle the yawn that came from his mouth.

As if on cue, Temperance walked up and sat down in the chair beside him, handing him a cup of weak hospital coffee. He gave her a warm smile. "Thanks," he said, taking a moment to breathe in the warm—though not exactly gourmet—scent.

She smiled back. "Sure." She turned her attention to her lab assistant. "Here you go, Zach."

Zach accepted the cup gratefully.

"Hear anything while I was gone?" Temperance asked, drinking from her own cup.

Booth shook his head, licking his lips slightly from the sip he had just taken. "Nothing yet."

Temperance relaxed back in her chair, and Booth did the same, taking another drink from his cup as he allowed his hand to rest easily on Temperance's knee.

"It's kind of funny," Booth said, as if finishing a thought that he hadn't said out loud. Temperance glanced at him, and he gave her a half smirk. "It seems like every time I'm dragged to this hospital it's because of you."

Temperance had to laugh slightly as she took a moment to take in Booth's appearance. He was wearing jeans and a wrinkled tee shirt, his hair askew and mashed flat on one side from where he had been sleeping on it. His jaw line was darkened with stubble.

Temperance and Zach were somewhat similar to Booth in appearance. Both of them were also wearing jeans and hastily grabbed tee shirts. Zach's hair was also messy and unkempt, and Temperance's was gathered in a loose ponytail that hung at the base of her neck.

None of them had really had much time to get ready. Temperance's conversation with Hodgins had roughly sounded like:

"SHE'S IN LABOR! SHE'S IN LABOR _NOW!_"

"Huh?" Temperance had replied in a dazed voice, struggling to wake up and process the voice on the phone.

"WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO THE HOSPITAL!"

"Jack, slow DOWN! I'd like to ALIVE to meet the baby!" That had been Angela's voice.

"WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO SLOW DOWN!"

"We have all the time we need! I'm the one whose…TRUCK! _TRUCK!"_

Temperance had heard the sound of wailing car horns at that point, a noise that jolted her momentarily. "Are you two okay?"

"YEAH, YEAH, WE'RE FINE, JUST SOME ASSHOLE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!"

Temperance had heard a slight scuffling at the point, and the tangled voices of Angela saying, "yeah, and that bad driver would be YOU!" and Hodgins saying, "I'M A FINE DRIVER! HEY, GIVE ME THE PHONE!"

"Hey, sweetie," Angela's voice came over the phone.

"What's going on?"

Angela sighed. "Jack's freaking out. He won't stop shouting."

"I'M NOT SHOUTING, THIS IS JUST A VERY BIG DEAL!"

Angela had sighed again. "He's shouting. We're on our way to the hospital, would you guys mind picking up Zach?"

"Sure," Temperance said. "How close are your contractions?"

"About every three minutes."

"EVERY THREE MINUTES? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THEY WERE THAT CLOSE?" Hodgins' voice shot across the phone line, followed by the sound of hard turning tires. "I KNOW A SHORTCUT!"

Angela sighed. "I should never have woken him up to tell him."

Temperance had to laugh slightly. "Okay, we're on our way."

"Thanks, sweetie," Angela answered.

"You're going to do great, Ange. We'll see you when we get there."

"…okay." Angela's voice was slightly tentative, and as the two hung up, Temperance heard Hodgins' voice shout out, "HANG ON, WE'RE GOING TO MAKE A TURN HERE!"

"Angela in labor?" Booth had asked, his voice muffled by the pillow that was near his face.

"Yeah," Temperance answered. "We need to go pick up Zach."

"Hodgins freaking out?"

"How'd you know?"

"I heard him through the pillow."

After that, Booth and Temperance had dressed quickly, picked up Zach, and headed to the hospital, where they had been sitting and waiting for over five hours.

Temperance sat her coffee down on one of the small tables beside the chairs, and Booth glanced at the magazines. He would have sworn that they were the same ones that had been there when he had waiting to see if Temperance was going to make it through that first night. Temperance settled back into her seat, letting her weight sag slightly against Booth. Booth gave her knee a quick, almost unconscious, squeeze in return.

A short while later, Hodgins walked out into the waiting room, a cheap surgical gown draped over his wrinkled clothes. "Hey, guys." He wasn't shouting anymore, and he had a wide grin on his face.

The three looked at him expectantly, standing up.

"It's a little girl," he said, still beaming. "I have a little girl!" Tears formed in his eyes, dripping slightly down his cheeks.

The three quickly exclaimed their congratulations, excitedly talking over one another, Temperance giving him a hug as Booth giving him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

"How's Angela doing?" Temperance asked.

"Wonderful," Hodgins answered, tears still flowing. "She was wonderful. Perfect." He wiped a tear away with a quick swipe of his hand, still grinning. "Sorry." He grinned again. "She's so beautiful. Both of them are."

"When can we see the baby?" Zach asked.

"Soon, I think. They're just letting Angela rest a little bit." He grinned again. "I can't believe I have a baby girl!"

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Eventually, Zach, Booth, and Temperance were allowed into Angela's room to meet the new baby at to see their friends. They walked in and found a still beaming Hodgins beside a tired looking Angela, who had a pink bundle tucked carefully in her arms. Both she and Hodgins were staring at the baby, and when the three entered the room, only Angela looked up to acknowledge them.

"Hey, guys," she said, her voice quiet.

"Hey," they answered in equally quiet voices.

Angela shifted and handed the baby to Hodgins, who walked closer to the three so they could have a better look. "I'd like you to meet Emily," he said, proudly. The baby had a shock of black hair on the top of her head, her skin a reddish pink color. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and one tiny hand was curled tightly in a fist, the other slightly open.

"Hi, Emily," Booth said softly, reaching out to squeeze a tiny finger.

"She's so tiny," Zach commented, staring at the baby.

"Oh, really?" Angela said in a sarcastic voice, causing everyone to laugh.

"Do you want to hold her?" Hodgins asked, looking at Temperance.

"Sure," Temperance said as Hodgins handed her the baby.

Emily, who was sleeping, squirmed slightly as she was passed and yawned broadly as she nestled into Temperance's arms. Temperance walked over and sat on the side of Angela's bed.

"Emily, this is Aunt Temperance," Angela said softly.

Emily yawned again.

"This is way better than the last time when were all at the hospital together," Booth commented. Everyone in the room had to laugh slightly in agreement.

Angela and Temperance stared down at the baby as Booth, Zach, and Hodgins looked on.

"So," Booth said, looking at Angela. "How does it feel?"

Angela looked up. "Terrifying."

Booth smiled slightly and nodded.

"But," Angela added, "it's a wonderful kind of terror."

Booth smiled, recognizing the words he had used when they had had dinner together.

"So, when are you two going to have one?" Hodgins asked, looking at Temperance and Booth.

"I think we'll just take yours," Temperance answered with a smile.

Angela laughed. "I don't think that's possible. Jack's getting overprotective already."

"I am _not_ overprotective."

"Oh, yeah? What about when that nurse came in earlier and you refused to give her the baby?"

"That wasn't overprotective, that was smart. That nurse had a weird look."

Angela rolled her eyes.

Booth laughed. "Man, I can't wait to see you when she starts dating."

Some of the color went from Hodgins' face. "Dating?"

"Hey, maybe one day she can date Parker," Temperance commented with a smirk, watching Hodgins, waiting for his reaction.

"NO! No way!" Hodgins point at Booth. "Your son is to come nowhere _near_ my baby girl!"

"Hey, what's wrong with my son?" Booth asked, trying to look offended.

"I know what boys are after! No boys around Emily!"

"Hodgins," Angela said, trying to calm him down, "I think you're getting a little excited…"

"Boys are trouble! Emily is never to be alone with a boy! _Never!_"

Angela sighed. "Thanks for that, Brennan."

Temperance smiled. "Hey, what are aunts for?"

Emily stretched slightly, waking up Temperance's arms. Her eyes slowly came open, and Zach, Hodgins, and Booth leaned over to look at her.

Booth patted Hodgins on the shoulder again. "Good luck keeping the guys away from her, Hodgins. She looks like she's going to be a heartbreaker."

Angela smiled. "Thanks, Booth."

And with that, Temperance, Booth, Angela, Hodgins, and Zach set about talking to the baby, introducing themselves and making silly faces and nonsense noises. And from where she lay, cuddled in her Aunt Temperance's arms, Emily stared back at her new family.

FIN

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Yes, I couldn't think of a name for the baby, so I just named her after Emily Deschanel. So sue me. :-) Review if you want, after all, this is the last chapter :-)


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